The great Bootmann had arrived at that part of the Nightmare Sonata in which musical sound, produced principally with the left hand, is made to describe, beyond all possibility of mistake, the rising of the moon in a country church-yard and a dance of Vampires round a maiden’s grave.  Sir Joseph, having no chance against the Vampires in a whisper, was obliged to raise his voice to make himself audible in answering and comforting Launce.  “I sincerely sympathize with you,” Turlington heard him say; “and Natalie feels about it as I do.  But Richard is an obstacle in our way.  We must look to the consequences, my dear boy, supposing Richard found us out.”  He nodded kindly to his nephew; and, declining to pursue the subject, moved away to another part of the room.

Turlington’s jealous distrust, wrought to the highest pitch of irritability for weeks past, instantly associated the words he had just heard with the words spoken by Launce in the boudoir, which had reminded him that he was not married to Natalie yet.  Was there treachery at work under the surface? and was the object to persuade weak Sir Joseph to reconsider his daughter’s contemplated marriage in a sense favorable to Launce?  Turlington’s blind suspicion overleaped at a bound all the manifest improbabilities which forbade such a conclusion as this.  After an instant’s consideration with himself, he decided on keeping his own counsel, and on putting Sir Joseph’s good faith then and there to a test which he could rely on as certain to take Natalie’s father by surprise.

“Graybrooke!”

Sir Joseph started at the sight of his future son-in-law’s face.

“My dear Richard, you are looking very strangely!  Is the heat of the room too much for you?”

“Never mind the heat!  I have seen enough to-night to justify me in insisting that your daughter and Launcelot Linzie shall meet no more between this and the day of my marriage.”  Sir Joseph attempted to speak.  Turlington declined to give him the opportunity.  “Yes! yes! your opinion of Linzie isn’t mine, I know.  I saw you as thick as thieves together just now.”  Sir Joseph once more attempted to make himself heard.  Wearied by Turlington’s perpetual complaints of his daughter and his nephew, he was sufficiently irritated by this time to have reported what Launce had actually said to him if he had been allowed the chance.  But Turlington persisted in going on.  “I cannot prevent Linzie from being received in this house, and at your sister’s,” he said; “but I can keep him out of my house in the country, and to the country let us go.  I propose a change in the arrangements.  Have you any engagement for the Christmas holidays?”

He paused, and fixed his eyes attentively on Sir Joseph.  Sir Joseph, looking a little surprised, replied briefly that he had no engagement.

“In that case,” resumed Turlington, “I invite you all to Somersetshire, and I propose that the marriage shall take place from my house, and not from yours.  Do you refuse?”