dark mahogany furniture. On the walls hung the
portraits of the Scroopes for many generations past,
some in armour, some in their robes of state, ladies
with stiff bodices and high head-dresses, not beauties
by Lely or warriors and statesmen by Kneller, but wooden,
stiff, ungainly, hideous figures, by artists whose
works had, unfortunately, been more enduring than
their names. He was pacing up and down the room
with a candle in his hand, trying to realize to himself
what life at Scroope might be with a wife of his aunt’s
choosing, and his aunt to keep the house for them,
when a door was opened at the end of the room, away
from that by which he had entered, and with a soft
noiseless step Miss Mellerby entered. She did
not see him at first, as the light of her own candle
was in her eyes, and she was startled when he spoke
to her. His first idea was one of surprise that
she should be wandering about the house alone at night.
“Oh, Mr. Neville,” she said, “you
quite took me by surprise. How do you do?
I did not expect to meet you here.”
“Nor I you!”
“Since Lord Scroope has been so ill, Lady Scroope
has been sleeping in the little room next to his,
downstairs, and I have just come from her.”
“What do you think of my uncle’s state?”
“He is better; but he is very weak.”
“You see him?”
“Oh yes, daily. He is so anxious to see
you, Mr. Neville, and so much obliged to you for coming.
I was sure that you would come.”
“Of course I came.”
“He wanted to see you this afternoon; but the
doctor had expressly ordered that he should be kept
quiet. Good-night. I am so very glad that
you are here. I am sure that you will be good
to him.”
Why should she be glad, and why should she be sure
that he would be good to his uncle? Could it
be that she also had been told the story of Kate O’Hara?
Then, as no other occupation was possible to him, he
took himself to bed.
Fred Neville’s scheme.
On the next morning after breakfast Neville was taken
into his uncle’s chamber, but there was an understanding
that there was to be no conversation on disagreeable
subjects on this occasion. His aunt remained
in the room while he was there, and the conversation
was almost confined to the expression of thanks on
the part of the Earl to his nephew for coming, and
of hopes on the part of the nephew that his uncle
might soon be well. One matter was mooted as to
which no doubt much would be said before Neville could
get away. “I thought it better to make
arrangements to stay a fortnight,” said Fred,—as
though a fortnight were a very long time indeed.
“A fortnight!” said the Earl.
“We won’t talk of his going yet,”
replied Lady Scroope.
“Supposing I had died, he could not have gone
back in a fortnight,” said the Earl in a low
moaning voice.
