’Sot, fool, and poltroon—triple qualification
for mischief—I don’t know why he
still lives. Irons—a new vista opens,
and this d——d young man!’
All this was not, as we sometimes read, ‘mentally
ejaculated,’ but quite literally muttered, as
I believe every one at times mutters to himself.
’Charles Archer living—Charles Archer
dead—or, as I sometimes think, neither
one nor t’other quite—half man, half
corpse—a vampire—there is no
rest for thee: no sabbath in the days of thy week.
Blood, blood—blood—’tis
tiresome. Why should I be a slave to these d——d
secrets. I don’t think ’tis my judgment,
so much as the devil, holds me here. Irons has
more brains than I—instinct—calculation—which
is oftener right? Miss Gertrude Chattesworth,
a mere whim, I think understood her game too.
I’ll deal with that to-morrow. I’ll
send Daxon the account, vouchers, and cheque for Lord
Castlemallard—tell Smith to sell my horses,
and, by the next packet—hey?’ and
he kissed his hand, with an odd smirk, like a gentleman
making his adieux, ’and so leave those who court
the acquaintance of Charles Archer, to find him out,
and catch their Tartar how they may.’
CHAPTER LXXVI.
RELATING HOW THE CASTLE WAS TAKEN, AND HOW MISTRESS
MOGGY TOOK HEART OF GRACE.
That evening there came to the door of the Mills,
a damsel, with a wide basket on her arm, the covering
of which being removed, a goodly show of laces, caps,
fans, wash-balls, buckles, and other attractions, came
out like a parterre of flowers, with such a glow as
dazzled the eyes of Moggy, at the study window.
‘Would you plaze to want any, my lady?’
enquired the pedlar.
Moggy thought they were, perhaps, a little bit too
fine for her purse, but she could not forbear longing
and looking, and asking the prices of this bit of
finery and that, at the window; and she called Betty,
and the two maids conned over the whole contents of
the basket.
At last she made an offer for an irresistible stay-hook
of pinchbeck, set with half-a-dozen resplendent jewels
of cut glass, and after considerable chaffering, and
a keen encounter of their wits, they came at last
to terms, and Moggy ran out to the kitchen for her
money, which lay in a brass snuff-box, in a pewter
goblet, on the dresser.
As she was counting her coin, and putting back what
she did not want, the latch of the kitchen door was
lifted from without, and the door itself pushed and
shaken. Though the last red gleam of a stormy
sunset was glittering among the ivy leaves round the
kitchen window, the terrors of last night’s
apparition were revived in a moment, and, with a blanched
face, she gazed on the door, expecting, breathlessly,
what would come.
The door was bolted and locked on the inside, in accordance
with Doctor Toole’s solemn injunction; and there
was no attempt to use violence. But a brisk knocking
began thereat and Moggy, encouraged by hearing the
voices of Betty and the vender of splendours at the
little parlour window, and also by the amber sunlight
on the rustling ivy leaves, and the loud evening gossip
of the sparrows, took heart of grace, and demanded
shrilly—
Copyrights
The House by the Church-Yard from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
