Читать книгу Victor's Triumph - Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth - Страница 10

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He shuddered, as no doubt the bravest cowers,

When he can't tell what 'tis that doth appall.

How odd a single hobgoblin's nonentity

Should cause more fear than a whole host's identity.

—Byron.

"Emma, dear, I have a letter from Uncle John Lytton," said Laura, gravely, going to the side of her friend.

"I hope they are all well at Lytton Lodge," responded Emma.

"Oh, yes, thank you, they are all quite well; but," added Laura, with a sigh, "Uncle John has written to me to come at once and pay them a visit. And to leave me no excuse, he has sent his servant Mithridates on horseback, with another led horse and side-saddle, to take me to Lytton Lodge."

"Oh, dear! But you need not go, I hope?" said Emma, looking up, with a sigh.

"I must go," answered Laura, with another sigh. "And really I ought to be glad to go to see such kind friends as all my relatives there have been to me. But, you see, Emma, I don't like to leave you for a single day even before I have to return to school."

"Then why do you go at all? Why can you not send an excuse?"

"Dear Emma, would you refuse to go if you were in my place?" inquired Laura.

Emma Cavendish could not reply.

"No, you would not," added Laura, "because it would not be right to refuse."

"But, my dear, to perform so long a journey on horseback! It must be over twenty miles. Let me see—it is about nine miles from here to Wendover, and it must be ten or eleven from Wendover to Lytton Lodge," said Emma.

"No; only about eight or nine. The whole distance is not more than seventeen or eighteen miles by the roundabout route. And if I could go as the crow flies it is not more than six miles. Why, you know the eastern extremity of your land touches the western extremity of uncle's."

"So it does. And if, as you say, you could go as the crow flies—that is, straight over mountains and rivers—you could get there in two hours. As it is, it will take you five or six hours, and that is too long for a girl to be in the saddle, especially a city-bred girl, unaccustomed to such exercise."

"I think I can stand it," smiled Laura.

"But you shall not try. If you will go you must take the little carriage. When do you propose to start?"

"To-morrow morning."

"Well, we will send the redoubtable Mithridates back with his steeds, and send you on your journey in the little carriage, under the guardianship of old Jerome, with orders to remain with you during your visit; but to bring you back again, at farthest, on the third day," said Emma, peremptorily.

Laura thanked her friend, but protested against any trouble being taken on her account.

But Miss Cavendish was firm, and the arrangement was made according to her plan.

In the meantime Mithridates, eating beef and bread and drinking home-made sweet cider in the kitchen, recovered some of his composure; though still, with his mouth full of meat and his eyes starting from his head, he persisted that he had seen the spirit of his young mistress. And it was a token of his death.

"G'long way from her', boy! Ef I didn't know as you wasn't I should think as you was intoxified! There never was no sperrit never seen into this house," said Aunt Molly, indignantly.

"I don't care! I did see her sperrit! So there now," persisted Taters, bolting a chunk of bread and choking with it for a moment. "And—and it's a token of my death."

"Is that the reason you're a trying to kill yourself now, you iddiwut?"

"No; but I seen her sperrit!"

"I don't believe one word of it. You're a making of it all up out'n your own stoopid head! There, now, ef you're done eatin' you'd better go 'long and put up your hosses," said Aunt Moll, seeing her guest pause in his gastronomic efforts.

But Taters hadn't done eating, and did't get done until all the dishes on the kitchen table were cleared and the jug of cider emptied.

Then, indeed, he gave over and went to look after his "beasts."

At the same hour Mary Grey, locked fast in her room, suffered agonies of terror and anxiety. She, too, had seen a "ghost"—a ghost of her past life—a ghost that might have come to summon her from her present luxurious home!

On her way down-stairs to the drawing-room she had been arrested on the head of the middle landing by the sight of a once familiar face and form.

She met the distended eyes of this apparition, and saw at once that he had recognized her as surely as she had recognized him.

And in an instant she vanished.

She darted into her own room and locked the door and sank breathless into the nearest chair.

And there she sat now, with beating heart and burning head, waiting for what should come next.

A rap at the door was the next thing that came.

It frightened her, of course—everything frightened her now.

"Who is that?" she nervously inquired.

"Only me, ma'am. The ladies are waiting luncheon for you. Miss Emma sends her compliments and says will you come down?" spoke the voice of Sarah, the lady's maid.

"Love to Miss Cavendish, and ask her to excuse me. I do not want any luncheon," answered Mary Grey, without opening the door.

Then she sank back in her chair with throbbing pulses, waiting for the issue of this crisis. She was really ill with intense anxiety and dread. She grew so weak at last that she lay down upon her sofa.

Then came another rap at the door.

"Who is that?" she asked again, faintly.

"It is I, dear," answered the voice of Emma Cavendish.

Mrs. Grey arose trembling and opened the door.

"I was afraid that you were not well. I came up to see," said Emma, kindly, as she entered the room.

"I—no, I am not quite well," faltered Mary Grey, as she retreated to the sofa and sat down, with her back purposely to the light and her face in the shadow.

"You really look pale and ill. What is the matter, dear?"

"I—think I have taken cold. But by keeping to my room for a few days I hope to be better. A cold always affects the action of my heart and makes me very nervous," said Mary Grey, in explanation of the tremors for which she could not otherwise account.

Then Emma expressed sympathy and sorrow, and begged the pretended invalid to have some tea and cream-toast, or some wine-whey or chicken-broth.

But Mary Grey declined all these offers, declaring that a cold always took her appetite away.

And again Emma expressed regret.

And, as Miss Cavendish talked, Mary Grey grew more composed.

It was evident, she thought, that Emma as yet knew nothing of that strange rencounter on the stairs.

Presently, Miss Cavendish said:

"I am sorry to tell you that we shall lose Laura Lytton for a few days. Her uncle, Mr. Lytton of Lytton Lodge, has sent a messenger for her. She goes to visit her relations there to-morrow morning."

"Indeed—a messenger?" exclaimed Mary Grey, pricking up her ears.

"Yes; a queer genius, who signalized his entrance into the house by a scene," added Emma, smiling.

"Indeed!"

"Oh, yes! Why, you might have heard the commotion in the front hall! Did you hear nothing of it?"

"No, dear; I have remained shut up in my room ever since breakfast—have not stirred from it," answered Mary Grey, lying without the least hesitation.

"That accounts for your knowing nothing about it. But the absurd fellow raised quite a confusion by suddenly falling down in the front hall in a spasm of terror, declaring that he had seen the spirit of his young mistress on the middle landing of the front stairs."

"An optical illusion," answered Mary Grey, in a low, tremulous tone and with her face carefully kept in the shadow.

"Of course! And it appears that he was once a servant of that reckless and unlucky Frederick Fanning of White Perch Point, who married my mother's sister. And consequently his young mistress must have been that unfortunate cousin of mine," said Emma, with a sigh.

"Does any one know what ever became of that wretched girl?" inquired Mrs. Grey, in a very low tone.

"No; but I gather from the wild talk of the boy that she is supposed to be dead. It was her spirit that he thinks he saw."

"Whatever became of her father and mother?" questioned Mary Grey in the same low tone and still keeping her face in the deep shadow.

"I do not know. I heard that they went to California. I have not heard anything of them since. But, my dear, you are talking beyond your strength. Your voice is quite faint—scarcely audible indeed. Now I advise you to lie down and be quiet," said Miss Cavendish, with some solicitude.

And then she kissed Mary Grey, begged her to ring for anything she might require, and then she left the room.

And Mary Grey heard no more of the ghost. That cloud passed harmlessly over her head.