But strange as the picture was, it could not have
made any great impression on George Talboys, for he
sat before it for about a quarter of an hour without
uttering a word—only staring blankly at
the painted canvas, with the candlestick grasped in
his strong right hand, and his left arm hanging loosely
by his side. He sat so long in this attitude,
that Robert turned round at last.
“Why, George, I thought you had gone to sleep!”
“I had almost.”
“You’ve caught a cold from standing in
that damp tapestried room. Mark my words, George
Talboys, you’ve caught a cold; you’re as
hoarse as a raven. But come along.”
Robert Audley took the candle from his friend’s
hand, and crept back through the secret passage, followed
by George—very quiet, but scarcely more
quiet than usual.
They found Alicia in the nursery waiting for them.
“Well?” she said, interrogatively.
“We managed it capitally. But I don’t
like the portrait; there’s something odd about
it.”
“There is,” said Alicia; “I’ve
a strange fancy on that point. I think that sometimes
a painter is in a manner inspired, and is able to see,
through the normal expression of the face, another
expression that is equally a part of it, though not
to be perceived by common eyes. We have never
seen my lady look as she does in that picture; but
I think that she could look so.”
“Alicia,” said Robert Audley, imploringly,
“don’t be German!”
“But, Robert—”
“Don’t be German, Alicia, if you love
me. The picture is—the picture:
and my lady is—my lady. That’s
my way of taking things, and I’m not metaphysical;
don’t unsettle me.”
He repeated this several times with an air of terror
that was perfectly sincere; and then, having borrowed
an umbrella in case of being overtaken by the coming
storm, left the Court, leading passive George Talboys
away with him. The one hand of the stupid clock
had skipped to nine by the time they reached the archway;
but before they could pass under its shadow they had
to step aside to allow a carriage to dash past them.
It was a fly from the village, but Lady Audley’s
fair face peeped out at the window. Dark as it
was, she could see the two figures of the young men
black against the dusk.
“Who is that?” she asked, putting out
her head. “Is it the gardener?”
“No, my dear aunt,” said Robert, laughing;
“it is your most dutiful nephew.”
He and George stopped by the archway while the fly
drew up at the door, and the surprised servants came
out to welcome their master and mistress.
“I think the storm will hold off to-night,”
said the baronet looking up at the sky; “but
we shall certainly have it tomorrow.”
AFTER THE STORM.
Sir Michael was mistaken in his prophecy upon the
weather. The storm did not hold off until next
day, but burst with terrible fury over the village
of Audley about half an hour before midnight.
