********************START OF HEADER******************** This text has been proofread but is not guaranteed to be free from errors. Corrections to the original text have been left in place. Title: The Sixth Sense, an electronic edition Author: Sergeant, Adeline, 1851-1904 Publisher: Hutchinson & Co. Place published: London Date: 1905 ********************END OF HEADER******************** THE SIXTH SENSE THE SIXTH SENSE A NOVEL BY ADELINE SARGEANT AUTHOR OF "The Idol-Maker," Roger Vanbrugh's Wife," "The Mistress of Quest," etc. LONDON:Hutchinson & Co. PATERNOSTER ROW1905 Table of Contents for Sergeant's The Sixth Sense. Table of Contents for Sergeant's The Sixth Sense. Table of Contents for Sergeant's The Sixth Sense.THE SIXTH SENSECHAPTER I THE OLD STONE HOUSE"I DO not believe it is true," said Janet; "and even if it were, I think it would be very unkind of us to take advantage of it."A howl of indignation went up from the assembled family as Janet made her opinion known; and yet in ordinary times Janet was the authority—"the person of the house": the one to whom they all looked up, and in their heart of hearts respected. She had rather an unruly crew to manage, for although the young Urquharts lived under the nominal superintendence of a maiden aunt, it was found by experience that the maiden aunt wanted looking after as much as anybody else, and was no use except as a guarantee of respectability. The father and mother of these young people were dead; and when Mrs. Urquhart died, which was after Janet had left school, there was some talk of giving up the house and scattering the family amongst different relations and institutions. This plan Janet had stoutly contested."Mother was an invalid for three years and the house went on just as usual," she said: "and she did so little during the last few months, that Aunt Sally and I got quite into the habit of managing things. It would be much better for the children to grow up having a home to remember and to come back to than to plant them here and there, so that perhaps we should never all meet again."The tears came into Janet's eyes as she pictured this result. "I should never be happy again if I thought I should be separated from the children. And what would become of me?" she added inconsequently, as it seemed to her friends and guardians, who had been called in to consult. "Would you have me take a situation and go and teach other people's children? I would much better teach my little sisters.""You are so impetuous, Janet," said a stiff-looking elderly man, whom Janet knew as "Cousin Rossiter." "I was going to suggest that you should make your home, for a time, with my wife, who is greatly in want of a young person as companion. Your duties would be light, and there would be nothing to prevent you from seeing your younger sisters and brothers from time to time.""But is there any particular reason why we should not stay on here?" Janet enquired. "I know dear mother's income did not die with her. I rather believe it was left to me, was it not, Cousin Rossiter?""It is a very small one," said Cousin Rossiter, shaking his head lugubriously. "I do not very well know how you could manage on it.""But we have managed so far, and we shall have fewer expenses now," said Janet, with a sudden fall in her voice: "so would not the better plan be for us to go on as we have been doing, at any rate for a year or two or longer—until we see if Walter gets a situation or not."There was a good deal of common sense in Janet's proposition, and the relations, none of whom were very near, or had any special affection for the Urquharts, agreed to let Janet manage for herself ("under the supervision," they remarked, "of her mother's sister—Miss Vansittart"). Then at the end of a year or two it could be seen whether she had succesfully carried out her plan and stood on a firm financial basis, or whether it would be necessary for her to resign her guardianship of the family and allow older and wiser People to manage for her.Janet had then been nineteen, and she was now twenty-one—an age which gave her an agreeable sense of independence, since she possessed her small income in her own right and nobody had any business to interfere. The house in which they lived was practically their own; a small ground rent was all they had to pay to the lord of the manor. It probably paid them better to live in it than to attempt to let it, as it was a peculiarly inconvenient, draughty, uncomfortable building, a great deal out of repair; its only advantage, in fact, being that it was attached to a large garden where Janet assiduously cultivated vegetables, and Aunt Sally, with her younger nieces, made a brave show of roses and other summer flowers.On the occasion when Janet so energetically declared herself to be opposed to the general opinion of her family she was presiding at the breakfast table. There might not be very many of this world's goods in the possession of the young Urquharts, but they had at least health and strength and beauty. Naturally they thought very little of the last, seeing that it was pretty evenly distributed throughout the family. They were nearly all big white-skinned, blue-eyed, golden-haired young Saxons, in spite of their northern name. There was one exception. One of the girls was dark and paler than the others, and had large dark eyes instead of the blue orbs of her brothers and sisters. In any other family Patricia would have been considered very handsome, but she was of such a different type from the others, that the Urquharts disparagingly concluded her to be rather plain. Janet also presented a slight modification, for her hair was bronze rather than golden, and her smiling eyes were hazel instead of blue, but she had the tall lithesome figure and splendid carriage of the head which characterised the family as a whole; and she had, moreover, the alert look of the purposeful and resourceful woman, to whom no duty comes amiss and to whom no opportunity is waste.Her brother Walter, a handsome young giant of twenty-two (for although Janet was the virtual head of the family, she was not the eldest in years), faced her at the other end of the table with rather a dissatisfied look."It is all very well to talk in that way, Janet," he said, with an air of reproof, "but if I am rightfully entitled to this position and estate, truly I ought to enforce my rights. Do you want to live in this old house all your life?""I should be perfectly well content," said Janet briskly. "If there were a real prospect of doing so, I should lay out the whole garden in vegetables and send them to market.""I thought you did that already," said Walter, rather irritably. "I know I heard a great deal of noise under my window this morning about five o'clock, when the donkey cart was being loaded up for High Waltham.""Oh, those are the cherries," said Janet calmly. "I thought they had better go at once; they are sure to sell well."There was a chorus of disapproval. "Have you sent off all the cherries, Janet? Oh, that was too bad! Fancy getting up in the middle of the night and having them all picked,"' said one of the boys, with an air of disgust, "just to get them off to the market in High Waltham.""You are the one who will reap the advantage," said Janet, laughing, "because I mean to get you some new boots with the proceeds. It is no use; I cannot keep all the fruit in the garden for ourselves. We do not require it, and the cherries are finer than I have seen yet in this neighbourhood.""I think we had better open a greengrocer's shop," said Jack, in high dudgeon. "I think it is a horrid idea of yours, Janet, selling all the spare vegetables and fruit.""Other people do it as well as ourselves," said Janet steadily; "the only difference is that the gardeners do it on their own account, and thereby rob their masters. Now I am doing it for our own benefit, and I do not see why we should not succeed just as well as—Mr. Copeland's gardener, whom I saw yesterday morning driving quite a good load of fruit and vegetables to the station at five o'clock in the morning.""I cannot think when you get any sleep," said Walter impatiently; "you seem to be always up at four or five.""I am like the good woman in Proverbs," said Janet, laughing. "I rise in the middle of the night to provide bread for the household. Tell me some more about this wild-goose scheme of yours, Walter. We all want to hear about it." And Janet glanced at the happy, interested faces which surrounded the simple board, where porridge was not unknown, and an egg or rasher of bacon was quite an unaccustomed luxury."It is no wild-goose scheme at all," said Walter; "and I did not originate it, Janet, as you seem to think. The letter is from a lawyer—a very well-known London firm." He passed over an envelope as he spoke, but it reached Janet only after having been inspected by everyone at the table before herself."Farebrother & Cleaver," she read. "Well, they may be well known, but of course I have never heard of them. Why have they written to you?""You ask the most extraordinary questions, Janet," said her brother. "Of course, they write to me because they discovered that I was the heir—the rightful owner of these estates. They say they think I must be ignorant of the fact that they have passed to one Mr. Erskine, who, with his mother, is at present inhabiting the house—the castle, he calls it, although I do not suppose it is anything so very grand. As the old solicitor, he says he does not like to see an injustice being done, and therefore, he says, he would like to know whether he may take any step, and what my wishes may be.""Somehow," said Janet, "it does not sound like a thing that a really reputable, respectable old family lawyer would do; if he knew all about it why did he allow the present owner to take possession? Somebody must have known your name if you have any claim to it.""I suppose he would explain all that," said Walter. "Just fancy how delightful it would be if one were to drop in for an estate such as he describes, about£15,000 a year. He says that the house and lands might be made still more productive than they are. Fancy never having to sit for another single hour in that blessed old bank. It is enough to turn one's head," said Walter, knocking the table vigorously with his fists."It has apparently done that already," said Janet; "and as I before said, I do not at all like the idea of you taking an estate away from people who have already got it. Fancy turning a man and his mother out of house and home.""That is a silly, sentimental fancy," said Walter hastily. "Probably they have plenty of other places to go to. What do you think?" he said, looking round into the eager faces which were turned in his direction. " Don't you think it would be awfully jolly to have a big house and an estate? We should have horses and dogs, and probably a park with deer, and we certainly would not let Janet sell the garden produce any more."There was a laugh at this before the family dispersed; girls and boys had certain tasks apportioned to them, and Janet had some difficulty that morning in getting them to pay proper attention to what she wanted done: there was a general inclination to foregather and build castles in the air concerning the splendid things that were in prospect for them, and Janet heartily wished that Walter had kept his letter to himself."Look here, Janet," said her brother, catching her by the arm as she was walking from the house to the kitchen garden. "I do wish you would not pour cold water on everything in the way you do. If this is a genuine thing, why should I not avail myself of it?""Oh, I suppose you must," said Janet. "If it is genuine, I dare say I spoke too hastily; I was only imagining for a moment how hard it would seem to be suddenly turned out of your own home and told that you must let some perfect stranger come in.""But I do not know—I cannot be sure—that these people have lived there very long," said Walter; "of course, they must be cousins of ours, although we have never heard of them. Let me see: what does the man say their name is?—Corballis—no, Erskine. 'Corballis' seems to be a sort of title going with the land; I cannot quite make out why mother did not know.""I think she did," said Janet quickly. "I remember her mentioning the Erskines; she said she wondered whether we should ever hear from them.""Did you ask her what she meant?""No, I did not; for I never attached any particular importance to what she was saying. She looked at me once rather strangely, and said, 'You must remember, Janet, that my family was not equal to your father's—still, I was a gentlewoman born, and there was no need for the Erskines to have cast him off. They may be forced to take us back again some day,' she said. Then she began to cough, and I would not let her talk any more.""It sounds as if there were something in it," said Walter; "all the more reason why you need not snap one so frightfully about it.""Oh, you have no sense, Walter," said his sister impatiently. "They cannot do anything this morning because they are talking of deer-parks and horses; the prospect of the least change always upsets children. If I had been you, I should not have let them know anything about it until everything was settled; and my advice to you is now to write to Messrs. Farebrother & Cleaver at once and then ask the bank for two or three days' holiday. It might be quite worth your while to go up to London and find out the truth for yourself."CHAPTER II JANET'S DIFFICULTIESWALTER had obtained a situation in a bank at the neighbouring town of High Waltham, and his success in getting it had been a subject of jubilation for some time. He was now able to contribute a little to the house-keeping and to buy his own clothes. The next boy, Guy, who was nineteen, was a student by nature and had won scholarships enough to keep him at Cambridge without much assistance from Janet. Every other member of the family was, however, dependent upon the eldest sister's management, and nobody else was as yet able to earn any money. Janet had thought once or twice of counselling Patricia to get some music pupils. Her talent for music was undeniable, and she played the violin with wonderful skill considering that she had had so few opportunities of good lessons; but of late, the elder sister had looked at the girl rather doubtfully—Patricia was growing quite too pretty to be allowed to go about the world as she pleased. Janat shrank from sending her to the market town without a companion; she had already heard a whisper that the girl had been stared at and followed, and she realised, with a pang, that beauty needed special care and chaperonage, and that there was no one to give it. She, Janet, was far too busy to be able to walk out with her sister, and the aunt who lived with them was not at all distinguished for common sense: so that it seemed better to keep Patricia practising her violin at home than to send her out into the uncertain world of the musical profession.Of course, if the letter Walter had received that morning were accurate, the position of the whole family would be changed. Messrs. Farebrother & Cleaver seemed very certain of their facts. His father had been the younger son of a Border laird who, exasperated with him on account of his marriage, had turned him out of the house and refused to have anything more to do with him. Thenceforth the son turned his back on his father's family and attempted no communication; it was not known whether he were alive or dead. Now it seemed, according to the solicitors' letter, that his death had been too hastily assumed; his father and elder brother having died, the property had passed, undisputed, into the hands of a second cousin, who had now held it for the past twelve years. Messrs. Farebrother declared themselves willing to take up the case on behalf of Mr. Walter Urquhart without delay, if Mr. Urquhart were willing; and they were so sure, they said, of winning it against Mr. Erskine, the cousin now in possession, that they asked nothing for expenses until the case was won, and were perfectly willing to supply Mr. Urquhart with funds if he needed them.To Janet the last sentence was suspicious. She was a simple-minded girl, knowing little of the world, but she was well aware that people do not offer money without expecting to make money out of their offer. She was inclined to be severely circumspect. Walter must be careful; she hoped that he would consult his employer, the banker, or go to a well-known solicitor in the county town.These thoughts occupied her mind while her fingers were busy with household tasks; for there was only one servant to do the work of the house, and therefore Janet did a great deal herself. Jack and Lancelot had gone off to the grammar school; Annabel and Nora were busy with their lessons in the improved schoolroom, which was the dining-room as well. Janet made an incursion upon them sometimes to see that they were working properly. She usually found Nora working industriously and Annabel singing a tune or making little drawings in her note-book. Annabel was a rather frivolous young person of sixteen; Nora, the youngest of the family, was eleven, and very much of an example to her elder sister."Is Aunt Sally not down yet?" Patricia asked. "She might sit with the children and keep them at their work.""I am afraid," said Janet, "that she would only discuss fashions with Annabel. Nora will work away in spite of any distraction, but Annabel is not half so attentive. I sometimes wish that Aunt Sally were just a little more grown-up.""Grown-up? Why she's thirty-five, isn't she? Oh, you mean in mind, I suppose: she's very young, isn't she?"And Patricia began to laugh."I found her yesterday dressing herself up in one of Annabel's frocks: one that Annabel had outgrown," said Janet, in a distressed voice. "It only reached to her ankles and it showed her arms to the elbow. She wanted to know if she could wear it at the Vicar's garden-party next week.""Janet! You won't let her make such a fright of herself?""Oh no, dear. I said I would contrive something else for her. I thought she might have my grey dress if she liked.""Your pretty dove-coloured frock—the only new one you've had for a year? Oh, don't give her that, Janet, whatever you do! It would be too bad! You must have one decent gown for yourself, you must indeed.""I must certainly contrive something for her," said Janet, with a little sigh, "or she will make herself absurd. Here she comes," as a footstep was heard on the stairs. "Don't let us seem to have been talking about her."Miss Sally Arbuckle was a younger sister of the late Mrs. Urquhart; and if Mrs. Urquhart had resembled Miss Sally, the Urquhart family would have been almost justified in objecting to the marriage. The Misses Arbuckle had begun life as dressmakers, and Sally had been reared in an atmosphere ofchiffons, and could scarcely talk of anything else. Her elder sister, Margaret Urquhart, had read books and tried to educate herself; she had grown, indeed, before her death, into a very fair semblance of a lady; and she had had a naturally reposed and thoughtful mind. But poor Sally had suffered and degenerated. The death of two intervening sisters had left her without a home; and she had been delighted to accept an invitation from Mrs. Urquhart to stay with her at the Stone House, as it was usually called, and help with household work and the care of the children and their clothes.It was only where clothes were concerned that Sally was of any use. She could manufacture hats and blouses out of the most scrappy and unpromising material. She had really rather a genius for millinery, and might have done very well in a London shop; but her talent was thrown away in a little country village. Besides, she was "silly"—everybody called her "silly"; she giggled like a school-girl, and she habitually wore costumes more suitable to Annabel than to a woman of thirty-five. She had once been very pretty, with her pink-and-white complexion and fair, curling hair; but the face had grown thin and mottled and the lustre had departed from the hair and eyes. But Aunt Sally still bridled and twisted her thin neck from side to side, and pretended to herself that she was five-and-twenty still.She came downstairs in a pink-and-white muslin tea-gown, of which Janet disapproved. " Why don't you keep your dressing-gowns for your bedroom?" she had once demanded, and Aunt Sally had silenced her by quite a learned dissertation on the difference between a tea-gown and a dressing-gown. Theoretically, Janet was worsted; but she disliked the tea-gown all the more."I must make up something for the Marstons' garden-party," said Sally, in a loud voice. "Look, Janet, would not this tea-gown do, if only I tied it round the waist with a pink ribbon, and put some more lace on the sleeves?""Certainly not," said Janet severely. "You would look as if you had just walked out of your bedroom.""Oh, dear! If I only had a lovely dress like your dove-grey, I wouldn't mind!" wailed Aunt Sally.Janet opened her mouth to speak, but Patricia immediately trod on her foot with such violence that the elder sister refrained in sheer astonishment. Then Patricia spoke in wheedling tones:"You might run upstairs, Aunt Sally, and get out your best Sunday frock; then we will come up and look at it and see what can be done."Aunt Sally vanished gleefully upstairs, and then Patricia turned eagerly towards her sister."I hope I didn't hurt your poor foot, darling. This is what I was thinking—but I didn't want to say it while she was here. There are some things in the big camphor-wood trunk on the top landing. I believe dear mamma would rather they were used for Aunt Sally than that she should not have proper clothes to wear.""You are right, child," said Janet, after a moment's pause. "She never meant them to be hoarded up. She told me to use them, but I haven't liked——""Do you think Aunt Sally will mind?""For a minute or two, perhaps," said Janet, with a rather hard smile; and then she will forget. Come upstairs now, and we will get the things out."The camphor-wood box was heaped full of garments, some old, some scarcely used, but all dainty and fine of fabric, although out of date in fashion. Janet chose out a grey Japanese silk dress, an old brocade, a black silk skirt, and a quantity of black lace. "There ought to be plenty here," she said, "if Aunt Sally will make the things fit and drape them prettily."But at first Aunt Sally made difficulties. She burst into tears at the sight of the clothes, and declared that she could never wear anything that had belonged to her dear, dearest sister. She also averred that nothing would induce her to put on any dead woman's clothes. Janet and Patricia assisted her out of this mood as well as they could, and finally she consented to remodel the grey silk, draping it with the black lace, and making a black lace toque to match. "It will suit me splendidly!" said Aunt Sally, at the top of her shrill voice. "Gracious, Janet, what a stupid you were not to think of these things before!"She fell to work upon the stuffs at once, and Janet and Patricia retraced their steps without smiling. "She cares for nothing but dress!" exclaimed Patricia, in an injured tone."Poor thing, it is all she has!" said Janet, rather pityingly; and then the two were silent for a little while."I hope Annabel is not going to turn out like that!" said Patricia."Oh, I hope not! What Annabel wants now is a good school. But we can't afford it, unfortunately.""But if Walter gets this estate——""It will be Walter's, not ours, you must remember, Pat. If Walter chooses to do anything for us, I shall be very glad and grateful; but I should not like to ask him. He would very likely think of it for himself.""Well, if he doesn't I shall take the liberty of reminding him," said Patricia indignantly. "Think of the number of things you have done for him. Is he not to do anything in return? Janet, you go the best way to make those boys as selfish as they can possibly be! It is a great shame.""Here's the postman," said Janet quickly. "Run and get the letters, will you, dear?"Patricia not only ran, she rushed, a whirlwind in petticoats, down to the garden gate. Janet followed her with her eyes, wondering a little. Lonely Patricia did not expect any letters? She had no girl friends. But Patricia came back slowly, swinging one letter only in her hand."Cambridge—Guy," she said. "He ought to be down soon, ought not he?""I should think so," Janet answered absently, as she stood still to read her younger brother's letter.It was an appeal to her to send him twenty pounds. Hemusthave twenty pounds before the end of the week, or he would be ruined. He was treasurer to a cricket fund, and he had never thought they would want the money so soon, and he had taken it to pay some bills. But Janet would help him, his own dear sister Janet!"What's the matter, Janet dear? Is there bad news?" cried Patricia; for Janet sat down suddenly and put her hands to her head as though overcome by some consciousness of trouble. "Janet, tell me, dear.""Nothing much," said Janet, rousing herself. "Only that he wants a little money, poor boy. Perhaps—perhaps Walter might be able to get it for him," she said, in a broken voice.Patricia looked at her in dismay. It didn't seem like the same Janet who had announced so proudly her resolution never to ask Walter for anything, either for herself or for her family."Don't look like that, Janet dear; you are quite white and cold," she said, putting her arm round Janet's neck, and kissing her forehead. "Shall I get you some water? Are you going to faint?""Nonsense," said Janet, as the colour came back to her lips, "I never fainted in my life; why should I begin now? What is this, Pat?" she asked, in a different tone; for a letter suddenly fell into her lap from Patricia's blouse, into which she had tucked it away. Janet saw that it had not yet been opened: it must have been handed to the girl by the postman at the door.She lifted it up and gave it back to Patricia, without even glancing at the handwriting; but there was reproach in her soft eyes. And Patricia's face was crimson with vexation: her velvety eyes were full of tears."It's no harm, indeed, Janet," she said earnestly. "I meant to tell you afterwards. But I wanted just to know what he said first.""He?" gasped the elder sister."Yes. Just a man I got to know when I went to the orchestra. Nobody very particular—only nice.""Why should he write to you, Patricia?""I don't know; I suppose he likes me," Patricia said, with a smile on her downcast face."Read your letter, dear," said Janet, turning from her with a sigh. "You can tell me about it afterwards, if you like."She felt as if the perplexities and dangers of her life were almost more than she could bear.CHAPTER III LADY MARY"I CANNOT understand it, Nigel," said Lady Mary, with some quiet heat of manner. "I am sure we never wished to defraud anyone. And yet this man speaks as though we were responsible——""I suppose, as a matter of fact," said Nigel, "we ought to have made further enquiries.""We did everything in our power," said Lady Mary. "I thought we left no stone unturned.""He cut himself off from the family completely," said Nigel Erskine, with a regretful look. "I suppose it never entered his head that his elder brothers would die childless: there were two boys when he left the place.""I think there should be a Statute of Limitations where these claims are concerned," said Lady Mary, in her soft voice. "It should not be possible for an established claim to be overturned."She was a very handsome old lady, with her silver hair waving lightly on her forehead, her aquiline features and delicate complexion seemingly untouched by age. Her eyes were dark and lustrous, rather deeply set under beautiful dark brows, and her curved lips and haughty chin betrayed the pride of race within. Her hands were still the admiration of her acquaintances: white, with long slender fingers, and blue veins faintly showing on the back of the hand."Her son, Nigel, had something of the same look of race. He had the same delicately aquiline features, the same dark eyes under fine brows, the same fine, white skin. But the mouth was sweeter than hers in its expression, and the turn of the head was less haughty. Nigel had been out in the world, and knew that even the Master of Corballis was not accounted much among other men.But he understood Lady Mary better than the world understood her. He knew that she had a warm heart underneath a demeanour that was often icily cold; he knew the depth of her sympathies, the strength of her affections. The worst was that the news he had brought her aimed a terrible blow at both.He had a special tenderness for her, not only as his mother, but as a cripple, who could not move alone. She sat in a wheeled chair, and was conveyed from one part of the house to another by the aid of servants. A lift had been designed for her, so that she might reach the first floor; and she had every luxury and convenience that could be designed for the use of an invalid. She had even her own private doctor living in the house, as well as a girl companion and a trained nurse. As Nigel looked at her, he wondered what she would do if many of those conveniences were denied to her. Supposing that they had to leave Corballis Castle, where could they go?But he knew that these thoughts must be set aside. His business at present was to show his mother that the stranger and the alien must have his rights. He bent over her and kissed her beautiful white hand."Mother," he said—and there was almost a sob in his voice—" if I had my way you should be a queen!""You mean," said his mother, with a brave smile, "that I am no longer to be mistress of Corballis Castle.""We are the intruders, mother; and we shall have to go."Lady Mary's upper lip quivered a little; then it pressed itself against the lower lip as if she were endeavouring to gain fortitude. In a moment or two her answer was spoken: "God's will be done," she said.Nigel bowed his head. There was a moment's silence, too sacred to be early broken; but it was Lady Mary who broke it with her usual quiet ease of manner."We do not wish to defraud anyone," she said, with a little smile; "and if this young man is, as you say, the son of James Urquhart, whose father turned him out of doors, he is, of course, the owner of Corballis Castle and the estate. He must be put in possession of his own property.""And what are we to do, mother?" said Nigel, in a voice which quivered a little in spite of himself."We shall have what we had before—when you were a boy, Nigel. It was about four hundred a year.""How can you live on that?""It is far more than I shall require, my poor boy. There is Fenella to think of. Fenella will come with me."The girl thus mentioned was standing beside the fireplace, where, although it was July, a small fire burned in the grate. She was a slim white creature in a white dress, with a cloud of dark shadowy hair and deep dreamy grey eyes with dark lashes. The delicacy of her appearance was sometimes apt to blind an observer to its beauty; for her small features were perfectly cut, and the lines of her cheeks and throat were like those of a beautiful woman in one of Burne-Jones's pictures.She came forward when she heard her name mentioned, and laid her hand softly on Lady Mary's arm."I will go with you wherever you go, if you will have me," she said. "I could not bear to live apart from you, my dearest dear.""As long as we can, then, we will keep together," said Lady Mary, laying one hand affectionately on that of her grand-niece. "You will approve of that, Nigel, at any rate?""I shall be only too glad to think that Fenella is with you," he answered, looking gravely yet approvingly at his cousin. "We shall find a home for you with us, Fenella; or, at least, you will be with my mother, wherever I may be.""Nigel!" said Lady Mary, "What does that mean?""Nothing in particular, mother," he answered cheerily. "Only that I shall have to look round for something to do with myself, since I am not to be Master of Corballis.""Oh, Nigel, Nigel! Surely it cannot be true! It seems too cruel—that you should be master here so many years, and that someone should come to turn you out. I know it cannot be helped," said Lady Mary, sobbing a little in spite of herself, "but it does seem hard—it does seem hard!"And to judge by Nigel's face, though he kept it averted from his mother, it seemed hard to him too. For a minute or two he had no words to comfort her; he kept silence and looked out through a window, with his back to the pretty white room in which they had spent so many afternoons and evenings of their lives. It seemed strange to them that before very long the White Drawing-room, as it was usually called, would be in other hands.Lady Mary recovered herself before Nigel was able to speak. She tried to control her sobs, but they were not altogether easy to restrain when once she had let them come. She spoke with little sighing breaths, a pause between nearly every word."I am—very—selfish," she said. "I was thinking of myself—of my own—great loss. But it will be—greater—for you, Nigel.""No, mother. For I am young and strong and can fight my way; it is always hardest for those who are no longer young; for those who are weak. But never mind, mother: you have often said you would be happy with me wherever I went; so now we will imagine we are going off on some expedition together and roughing it a little bit. Perhaps we shall have a better time than we have ever had before in our lives—who knows!""My poor boy! my brave boy!" his mother cried; and, holding out her arms to him, she drew down his head and kissed him fondly on the brow. But he had brought smiles to her lips, even if he had not cleared the tears entirely from her eyes. She held out a hand to Fenella when she had kissed her boy, as if she were afraid that her niece would feel her loneliness in the world; but, as a matter of fact, that was not the sort of thing that Fenella thought of, and when she remembered it, she generally felt thankful for it. She was not a young woman who particularly desired family ties."It is time for the Professor's visit, Aunt Mary," she said. "Would you like to put him off, or shall he come now?""Let him come by all means," said Lady Mary, in rather a feeble voice. "My heart is not very quiet to-day: I have had a good deal of palpitation. He may give me something to relieve it.""Shall we send for him?" said Nigel, in alarm. "You must take care of yourself, mother dear.""Yes, I must learn to do that," she answered. "We shall not be able to keep the Professor with us very long.""True: I had forgotten that," said Nigel, his face falling.Professor Chilworth was, in reality, a doctor of medicine, and had a doctor's degree; but he had, at one time or another, lectured in Edinburgh and Glasgow upon various biological subjects, and had been for a time in possession of a chair, which had given him the title of Professor, more commonly used in Scotland than in England. It was generally understood that he had been obliged to relinquish his professorship on account of some strangely heretical notions respecting the treatment of disease which he was supposed to have derived from the hypnotists of Paris. Nigel had been so much impressed with his views at one time that he had brought him to Corballis Castle to see his mother, with a view to ascertaining whether there was a chance of her ever being able to walk again; but his treatment had not proved successful. There had been, however, one outcome of the visit which Nigel had certainly not anticipated. Lady Mary was a woman of great intelligence, and the Professor was a clever man. She kept him at the Castle as a visitor as long as she could, and, after some discussion with Nigel, asked him to become her regular professional attendant, and to take up his quarters at Corballis altogether.The offer was eagerly accepted. The Professor was very poor; and having lost his lectureship and never worked up a medical practice, he hardly knew how to gain his bread. He settled himself at Corballis—as he thought—for life; set up a wonderful laboratory, where he experimented in lawful and unlawful ways; taught Fenella Latin, and many other things; and prescribed for the household when necessary. Nigel had noticed latterly that his mother did not seem to have quite as much faith in the Professor as she had had when he first came to the Castle; but, as a set-off against this, Fenella seemed to have become his slave. Perhaps Lady Mary had scarcely noticed her gradual change from childhood to womanhood. At any rate, the girl saw as much of the Professor as she pleased, frequented his laboratory unchecked, and sat with him a great deal more frequently than Lady Mary knew. She thought nothing of it; to her the Professor was a mere machine. But he was a man of forty-five, in reality; and he hardly looked his age.He presented himself to Lady Mary with an almost cat-like softness of step and a velvety smoothness of speech; told her that she must not be agitated, and gave her a soothing-draught. And then Lady Mary said to Nigel, who had not quitted the room, "One of our great trials will be losing the Professor, will it not?"The Professor's eyelids quivered, but he only smiled an enquiry."It is only too true," said Lady Mary, sighing. "We find we are usurpers, Professor: we have to make way for another family. Nigel will explain it all to you by and by. The household will probably be broken up, and I shall go into lodgings, or a small house, with my son. I am afraid this change will affect you unpleasantly.""Only for your sake, madam," said the Professor, bowing low.Fenella looked at him. There was a curious expression of scornful bewilderment in her eyes, but Professor Chilworth gave no sign of having seen it. And presently Lady Mary was wheeled out of the room by Nigel, and the Professor and his pupil were left alone.CHAPTER IV THE PEOFESSORAs soon as Lady Mary had left the room Fenella moved slowly towards the mantelpiece, where the Professor was still standing. She came step by step, almost as though against her will. The Professor was looking at her all the time with a fixed expression, as though his mind and will were bent on hers.They formed a curious contrast as they stood side by side. The Professor was dark and muscular, with heavily projecting brows which kept his eyes generally in shadow, whence emerged now and then a lightning-flash of keen perception or bitter wrath and—very seldom—of laughter. In spite of the fact that he had been some years resident in this old house on the Border, where peace and plenty reigned and there was no lack of anything necessary for bodily comfort, the Professor's face still wore a hungry look; there were hollows at the temples and in the cheeks as though he had at one time at least known the pangs of hunger. The mass of dark hair, slightly touched with grey, was wonderful; rather long, and locks of it fell over his white brow in somewhat picturesque confusion. In fact, although the Professor was not, perhaps, handsome, he was not unpicturesque, and might have served very well as a model for some necromancer of the Middle Ages, engaged perhaps in searching for the Elixir Vitae or the Philosopher's Stone.Close beside him stood Fenella, looking more than ever etherealized and unsubstantial in his proximity; for the Professor was a powerful man, broad-shouldered, with rather disproportionately long arms, and strong, clever-looking hands. Fenella was exceedingly slender, and it seemed as though she had arranged the diaphanous draperies of her white dress so as to accentuate the attenuation of her figure. She stood for a moment without speaking; then, raising her grey-green eyes to the Professor's face, she said, rather reluctantly, "What is it?""It is nothing," said the Professor, smiling benevolently at her; "I only wanted to know what you thought of the proposed change in our fortunes.""I have not had time to think," said Fenella."You have had time to feel."He possessed himself of her hand and touched the tiny blue-veined wrist with his fingers. "Here is a little bird," he said playfully, "that will whisper the secret to me. A little bird that flies, and seems as though he wanted to fly away: a little bird that tells so much without knowing it.""My pulse is always a little weak," said Fenella coldly. "I do not think you will find it out.""Oh, but there are other ways of reading the mind and heart," said the Professor, suddenly dropping her hand. "I see what you feel towards these interlopers who want to turn us out. It will be pleasant if they make Nigel Erskine a beggar, will it not? You would like to see yourself a poor woman, Fenella, working for your daily bread.""I will kill myself first," said Fenella, in a soft low voice, which seemed out of keeping with the violence of the sentiment.The Professor laughed a little. "I verily believe you would," he said; "but there are other ways to manage matters. Fenella, you yourself can do a good deal.""What can I do?" she asked, half unwillingly."He is a young man, this Walter Urquhart; he is coming to this house. Fenella, with all your powers—with all your charms—you can attract him sufficiently to make things easier for yourself. He has been poor, they say; probably he has never seen a beautiful woman in his life; it ought to be easy to persuade him that you are the one woman in the world for him.""That might be a good way," said Fenella, rather suddenly, "if I were free.""Free, child! You are free as air. Who can compel you to acknowledge anything that you wish to conceal? And, after all, when you have once made him your own, it is very easy to get rid of him.""What do you mean?" asked Fenella. "You would not kill him?""No, no, my dear; no, no," said the Professor, softly tapping her arm; "such methods as those are very crude. There are other ways and means of dealing with people who are in one's way—you and I both know that. There was a great deal in that mediaeval science falsely called magic—white magic and black—which we moderns pass over in disdain as simply foolish. There is a good deal to be said for their method of ridding oneself of an enemy; for instance, the wax figure wasting before the fire was not without its meaning, after all, although the process was a mistaken one.""I thought those old stories were nonsense," said Fenella."Not all of them," the Professor said, with an odd little smile. "I will show you a queer old book some day in my study. It is a book of charms in German text, and some of them are very pretty. There is one beginning, 'Take two roses, white and red'—and then it goes on to lescribe the making of a love-philtre."Fenella had moved away a little and was fingering the ornaments on the mantelpiece. "After all," she said, in a careless voice, "it would make very little difference if you did get Walter Urquhart out of the way; for there are no end of brothers and sisters, and of course the next eldest would be the heir. It would do Nigel no good if Mr. Walter Urquhart withered away like your wax figure before the fire.""Of course it would not," said the Professor; "I was only joking. No, it would be better to attack the young man in a more natural manner. If he is young and ardent it is very easy to entangle him, and once he is in love with you he will be ready enough to make some trifling provision for his brothers and sisters and then to settle the property on you and his heirs. Within a couple of years Nigel might be back again as prince-consort, if not as reigning sovereign.""It is a very nice plan," murmured Fenella, "but I do not see the least possibility of carrying it out.""Oh, but by and by, my little Fenella, you will. I assure you, by and by you will"; and he rubbed his hands and again bent his eyes upon her with the long and rather malignant gaze of a creature of the serpent kind which tries to fascinate its prey. "Come," he said paternally, "you believe in what I say, do you not? Look at me and tell me so."Fenella turned round and looked full into his eyes, then said "yes" rather reluctantly, as if almost against her will."And you will do what I tell you, will you not?""Yes, I suppose so.""Very well, don't forget. When the time comes I will point you out a way," said the Professor. And at the sound of his voice her eyes seemed to be released from the bond which had held her, and she turned away like a pupil released from a task or a prisoner from the dock."I must get back to my work," he said, making his way rather heavily to the door. "You will come to your lesson this afternoon, as usual?""Yes, I will come," said Fenella; "but I shall want you to teach me a different subject this afternoon.""What subject?" said the Professor, suddenly stopping short."I want you to show me your wonderful old books, and teach me how to read the old characters. Then I want to see some of the charms that are in the books," said Fenella."Well, there can be no harm in that," said the Professor. "You shall see them whenever you choose. But it does not require very much instruction." And he chuckled to himself as he left the room.Fenella, thus left alone, seated herself in the nearest chair, and lay back for a few minutes with closed eyes and a face that was even paler than its wont. "I wonder what it means," she said to herself, "this feeling of oppression—of something dragging my very soul out of me whenever I am near Professor Chilworth. I sometimes think he practises his white magic on me. I must get a breath of fresh air, or my head will ache all day."She cast a half-frightened glance round the large, light room, where the graceful dancing figures and wreaths of flowers tied with blue ribbons painted on the panels seemed to give a look of gaiety to the scene. Yet Fenella did not like the White Drawing-room, although she did not often say why.She strolled through the hall, where the oak panelling had not been covered with coats of white paint in order to make it—like the drawing-room—more cheerful. She stood at the open front door, which had no steps to it, but gave direct on the gravelled sweep, as the doors of old Scottish houses often do. The broad gravelled drive lay in front of the door, but around the other sides of the house the turf came straight up to the walls. The lower part of the house was quite plain and unornamented, with the windows raised rather far from the ground, as though the builders had calculated upon having to guard the house from the approach of an enemy. There was a large expanse of park-like land all around the house, which, with its clusters of pepper-pots at each corner, very much resembled a French ch#x00E2;teau. The building itself could scarcely be called beautiful, but the shadowing trees and the velvet-like sward softened its apparent stiffness and chilliness.Indeed, to Lady Mary and to Nigel Erskine, and possibly in some degree to Fenella, Corballis Castle always seemed one of the finest pieces of architecture in the world.What always particularly struck the visitor who stood for the first time at the door of the Castle was the sound of rushing water which could be heard and not seen. To a trained eye, however, there was no difficulty in following the course of the stream. It came from the neighbouring hills, and was partially hidden by a thick fringe of foliage from the trees growing on its banks. It ran through the Corballis grounds in a rather deep ravine, at the bottom of which there was a footpath beside the whirling, swirling water—a safe enough pathway at ordinary seasons, but liable to be submerged when the stream was "in spate," and therefore sometimes dangerous. But in the summer time, when the birds were singing overhead and the wind blew gently from the branches, this path at the bottom of the ravine formed a very pleasant walk, especially where the stream widened out into a deep pool overhung with willows and rowan trees, with a great beech tree here and there to give deeper shadow from the sun. Around the pool there was a wider space of mossy ground and boulder: it was usually known as "The Den," and was a favourite place for picnic parties when Lady Mary's consent could be obtained. But Lady Mary did not give her consent to every party; for she had no desire to see her beloved Den destroyed by ruthless tourists who would tear up the plants and break down the young shoots of the growing trees, not to speak of littering the ground with greasy paper and the remains of provisions; therefore a recommendation always had to be obtained and presented before permission to encamp in the Den for the day was given.Fenella stood and listened for some little while to the singing sound of the stream; then she took up a sunshade and walked slowly to the narrow broken path, with steps cut here and there by which she could descend to the edge of the water. She walked slowly along the bank until she reached the Den, and there she paused for a moment, for someone was before her. It was Nigel: he was sitting on a mossy stone smoking a short pipe, and looking as if he were deep in meditation on the course of events. Fenella hesitated a moment, then went slowly and daintily forward. Nigel sprang up at the sight of her, and a smile dawned on his clear-cut handsome face."Why, Fenella," he said, "I was just thinking about you. I must have willed you to come.""Oh, I hope not," said Fenella, a little languidly."You hope not, dear; why not?""I do not know. I connect that kind of talk with the Professor; he has some odd theories about willing people to do things.""Yes, he studied hypnotism in Paris under Charcot, you know. They made a great many experiments on the patients in the hospitals. To tell the truth, when I first asked him here I had some idea that he would be able to help my mother; I thought he might be able to bring back the power to her limbs. However, he has not succeeded.""I wonder you let him stay," murmured Fenella."My dear child, I have nothing to do with it. I invited him here on a visit, but I hardly expected that my mother would retain him as her private physician. However, there is never any knowing what people will do, and he is certainly very agreeable company at times; and my mother likes him. But you did not come out here to talk of him, Fenella?""No, I came out here because I was lonely, and because I never like being in the White Drawing-room at twelve o'clock.""Oh, foolish Fenella, you don't mean to say that you believe that story?" He alluded to one of the legends of the house—that the apparition of a little old lady in a poke bonnet and a crinoline might sometimes be seen in the White Drawing-room about noon-day. Her appearance was supposed to forebode misfortune; and although no one in the house at present professed to have seen her, there was always some unwillingness amongst the servants to find themselves in the White Drawing-room at that hour of the day."It is a well-authenticated story," said Fenella, with some emotion. "I do not see why it should not be true. I think it is vulgar not to believe in ghosts. I believe in them, certainly, but I do not wish to see one.""I would give the world to see one," said Nigel, "but I do not suppose I ever shall.""How different we are!" Fenella said musingly: and then she looked up at him with a smile. Nigel was not insensible to her smiles. He took her hand and walked with it clasped in his own, thinking to himself that if misfortune had not befallen him he would have asked Fenella to be his wife. But it would not be fair to ask her now.And what Fenella thought, it would have been difficult to say.CHAPTER V PATRICIANATURALLY, with people like the Erskines, and in a place like Corballis Castle, matters of great importance could not be conducted with great speed. The family lawyer had to be sent for all the way from Kilmarnock, and the minister had, of course, to be consulted; and then there were half-a-dozen family friends whose advice had to be taken, so that some time elapsed before Nigel's formal acknowledgment of the letters he had received, and any further or more decisive communication. His solicitor conducted a vigorous correspondence with Mr. Farebrother, but the young Urquharts knew nothing about th at, and, being inexperienced in the ways of the world, were rather surprised when three weeks passed by and no change had occurred in their condition.In the meantime Janet had withdrawn her opposition to Walter's claim to the Corballis estate, but she steadily checked any inclination on the part of the children to discuss Walter's good fortune as if it were to be their own."I hope you don't think we are all going to be dependent upon Walter," she said, with great scorn in her voice. "Besides, we are not sure Walter will get anything. It may be all a pretence of Messrs. Farebrother's.""It looks like it, when they have advanced me£100 with no security! " said Walter, with some dryness of tone.Janet was silent, for she knew she had had£20 out of that hundred to send to Guy, and she had had great difficulty in obtaining it without telling Walter the worst facts of the case. Walter understood that it was a debt which Guy had contracted, but Janet kept faithfully to herself the knowledge that Guy had misappropriated money, with no prospect of repaying it. However, she got her£20, and felt that it did not become her to make any further objection to Walter's plans.This one of her perplexities being thus disposed of, she turned her attention to Patricia. The girl had come to her at twilight on the evening of the day when she had received a letter which Janet had not seen, and, putting her arm through her sister's, proposed to her to come and sit on the lawn and look at the last red glow of sunset."I am too busy," said Janet."You know you are not, Janet; you are only cross. And I do not want you to be cross with me, because I really have not done anything wrong. I wanted to tell you about Bertrand before now.""Bertrand?" said Janet, coldly. "Is that his surname?""Oh, no, dear; it is his Christian name, of course. He is called Bertrand St. Just. Is it not a pretty name?""It sounds very like an assumed one," said Janet, with great severity. "It is much too pretty to be natural. How did you make his acquaintance?""I told you—at the orchestra practice. I was playing second violin and he was leading: oh, he played splendidly!""Is he a professional musician?""I suppose so," Patricia answered, looking down. "You see, one cannot help speaking to people at these musical meetings; it is no use to pretend to be fastidious and reserved, and all that sort of thing—one is only called proud. We are obliged to talk a little about the score, and he told me once or twice how the thing ought to be played. It was like having a lesson.""And when did this take place?" said Janet."Oh, just in the interval; it did not take five minutes. Most of the girls go off to get a cup of tea or an ice, you know, but I generally stay in the Hall to try over a difficult passage or——""To talk to strangers," said Janet austerely. "This man cannot be a gentleman, Patricia, or he would have known better than to carry the acquaintanceship further."Patricia bit her lip. "I know it is rather unconventional," she said, "but I think he is a gentleman, after all.""Why did he write to you'?""Oh, nothing—just a note about some music. You can see it if you like. Do read it, Janet, then you will see there is no harm in it."Janet rather unwillingly took the note which Patricia held out; and she could not but acknowledge that the hand-writing and the manner of expression were everything that could be desired. It was evidently not in externals that Mr. St. Just showed ill-breeding; and after all, there was, as Patricia had said, no harm in the note, and only Janet, when she was trying to be a dragon to her younger sisters, could have objected to it."Dear Miss Urquhart," the note began, "I venture to write at the request of our conductor to ask you to be half an hour earlier than usual at the next Wednesday practice. The second violins have a good deal to do in the Tschaikovsky Overture. I will have the music ready for you."I am,"Yours very truly,"BERTRAND ST. JUST.""Well, there is nothing to object to in that note," said Janet, rather reluctantly, "and if you had shown it to me at first, Patricia, I should not have been vexed. It was your hiding it that startled me. Why should you conceal a letter that you have received?""Oh, I did not mean to conceal it," said Patricia, blushing a little. "You see I had not time to open it before I came back to you with your letter. I felt a little nervous somehow when I saw his handwriting. I thought he might be going to tell me that I played so badly I must not come to the orchestra again.""Has he written to you before?" said Janet."No, of course not," with a glance of surprise. "Janet, dear, you are really very suspicious.""I beg your pardon," said Janet humbly, "I did not mean to suspect you of anything; only I did not know at first that it was a note of business, and of course, naturally, one does not like the idea of your corresponding with any young man you come across, without knowing anything about him."Patricia's laugh rang out happily. "As if I would do such a thing! I should so like you to see him and to hear him play, Janet. Could you not come to the practice with me next Wednesday?""I think I will," said Janet. She reflected that it would be rather a good thing for Mr. St. Just see that her pretty sister was not quite unprotected, but had an elder—Janet almost said "elderly"—person to look after her, little knowing that her own sweet, bonny countenance was not much older in appearance than Patricia's; for the younger girl's straight features and rather colourless cheeks added quite a year or two to her apparent age.But at any rate she felt that she need not be unhappy about Patricia, who was perfectly frank on the subject of her new acquaintance. But she had wondered many times before whether it were the right thing to let a girl of eighteen go unattended to the orchestra-practice, where she would meet all sorts of persons to whom she had to be friendly and pleasant whether she cared to know them or not. High Waltham was, in its way, a rather musical place; and orchestral practice was a new fashion, lately introduced by one of the music-masters of the town who wished to get up a good concert before Christmas. His efforts had not been so far very successful, but he had found some enthusiastic supporters, and among them Patricia had been one of the best. She took great pleasure in the weekly practices, which were held in the Town Hall every Wednesday afternoon at five o'clock. It had not seemed hitherto an objectionable thing that she should go alone. Janet resolved, however, to consult the Vicar's wife upon the subject.Mrs. Marston, the Vicar's wife, was a brisk little woman with a sense of humour, which she often exercised upon Janet for Janet's own good. For, as Mrs. Marston often said, "Janet was too earnest in all she undertook. If she would laugh things off, she would be much happier.""But," said the Vicar, "I always thought you considered Janet a very bright and sweet-natured girl.""Oh! so I do," said Mrs. Marston, "but that is a part of her unselfishness. She is bright and sweet to other people, while in the depths of her own heart she is worrying over their delinquencies, or some ridiculous little difficulty which nobody would think twice about—except Janet. When I can get her to laugh at herself I shall feel that I have succeeded."A woman of this kind was not likely to attach very much importance to Janet's fears on Patricia's account."But Patricia is only a little girl," she said."She is eighteen," remarked Janet."Girls are young nowadays. If I were you," said the Vicar's wife significantly, "I should not let her wear her hair up; I should have it in a queue, turned up and tied with a ribbon. She would not look a bit more than fifteen then.""Too late," said Janet; "she turned her hair up a year ago.""I wonder who this Mr. St. Just is," said Mrs. Marston thoughtfully. "Perhaps, after all, he may turn out a desirable acquaintance.""Desirable acquaintance! " echoed Janet, rather scornfully, "It doesn't seem to me that a very desirable acquaintance would be leading his kind of life!""But why?" said Mrs. Marston. "Is not Patricia also playing amongst the second violins? Andsheis a desirable young person, I suppose you would acknowledge!""But everyone knows who Patricia is," said Janet, "and nobody seems to know this Mr. St. Just."" I will ask my husband," said Mrs. Marston briskly.The tall, kindly-faced Vicar was presently pulled by force out of his study, and brought to the drawing-room to answer Janet's question." St. Just? I do not know that name about here," said Mr. Marston, thoughtfully stroking his chin. "It is an old Cornish name, of course, and I believe there was once a Duke of St. Just; but whether the title is extinct or not I cannot say. Bertrand St. Just—well, as you remark, Janet, it is very like a name out of a novel; but I should be disposed to ask the young man who his parents were, and what was his occupation.""But I cannot do that," said Janet, half seriously, half smilingly, "because I do not know the young man myself. Remember it is Patricia who knows him, not I."Mr. Marston shook his head. "Patricia is an advanced young woman," he said. "But I do not mean anything derogatory to her, my dear," he added kindly, remembering his wife's words concerning Janet's lack of humour. "I will call upon Cadbury, the conductor, if you like, and ask him what he knows of this second violin.""Thank you, Mr. Marston. Of course, you will not mention our names?" said Janet, rather anxiously."Of course I won't; I will just find out for myself if it is possible that this St. Just might do as an organist in our church. Old Clarke is getting quite past his work, and we want somebody to succeed him."Mr. Marston went back to his study, and Janet was left with the Vicar's wife."I must go myself with Patricia to the practices," Janet said, in rather a strained voice. "I am always afraid of the acquaintances that she makes. Patricia—she is very nice and very good, and I have nothing to say against her; but she is so revolutionary—so eccentric, I may say—that I never know what she will do next.""That is because you have not enough society," lectured Mrs. Marston. "You should let Patricia go out more, and you should go out more yourself, Janet.""But we cannot," said Janet sorrowfully. "We have no clothes.""You always look nice, at any rate," said Mrs. Marston. "There are some people that can wear anything. I saw Patricia the other day, and I thought she looked perfectly lovely; but when I looked hard at her frock, I saw that it was an old yellow muslin that I remembered you wearing some three years ago. Yet I assure you that with a bunch of yellow roses and brown foliage stuck in her belt, and a brown straw hat, and long tan gloves, she looked perfectly charming.""She might do very well like that in a country walk," said Janet, "but she cannot go to a garden-party in that attire.""If she comes to mine," said Mrs. Marston, with vivacity, "I do not care what she wears, for I know she will be the centre of attraction.""You do think her pretty, do you—really?" Janet said, rather wistfully. "I know that Annabel is said to be pretty, and I have always thought the boys handsome; but they are all alike, in that rather monotonous golden-haired, blue-eyed way; that is where Patricia is different.""She is brighter than all the others put together," said Mrs. Marston warmly; "and if you look after her well, and give her proper opportunities, she ought to make a very good marriage.""I have no opportunities to give her," said Janet, rather dolefully. And then she felt a little guilty, for she had not yet told Mrs. Marston of the extraordinary piece of good fortune which seemed to have fallen in Walter's way; and after all, she did not like calculating upon it as a chance for Patricia, so she said good-bye and went back to her home feeling that, at any rate, she had done her best.A day or two later Mrs. Marston was able to report what her husband had ascertained. It was indeed very little. Nobody seemed to know anything of Mr. St. Just; he was a stranger in the town, and had arrived one night at the Swan Hotel, a respectable old hostelry in High Waltham, intending, apparently, to stay one night only. For some reason or other he had strayed into the Town Hall, where the orchestral practice was going on, and it seemed to have interested him so much that he had sent for more luggage—from London, apparently—and seemed inclined to make a longer stay. He represented himself as being extremely musical; which was certainly true, for that he had been able to take the part of the leading second violin at a moment's notice, when the original performer had fallen ill. It also transpired that he was often absent for three or four days during the week, but that he always returned before Wednesday in order to be present at the orchestral practice for the concert."Did he bring no introductions?—no credentials of any sort?" Janet enquired, rather anxiously."No, my dear, apparently not. If he is a professional musician, it isn't likely that he will bring private introductions. My husband asked Cadbury whether he thought the young man could play an organ, and whether he would be willing to undertake it for a few Sundays, but Cadbury seemed uncertain; if we, however, hear from him, and he accepts the situation, Patricia will be able to see a great deal more of him than she has done so far." Mrs. Marston's eyes twinkled mischievously as she spoke.Janet looked up, startled. "You don't really think that Patricia minds whether she sees him again or not?""My dear," said Mrs. Marston solemnly, "I never pretend to understand Patricia. She has a queer little stand-off way which puts one very much at a distance. But I will tell my husband, if you like, that you particularly do not wish Mr. St. Just to take the organ.""But I should not like to say that," said Janet, her heart melting at once. "Of course, if he earns his living by playing, it would be very unkind of me to interfere.""Very well, then; I won't say anything either way. Have you seen him yet?""No, not yet. I was going to the practice with Patricia to-morrow, and then I expect to see him.""Let me tell you this," said Mrs. Marston, in a tone of conviction: "he is a very handsome man. I have seen him myself, and I thought him a perfect Adonis. I don't wonder that little Patricia was attracted by him."All that Janet heard made her the more uneasy, and she was quite nervous when the afternoon came for her to accompany her sister to the official practice at the Town Hall. She certainly agreed with Mrs. Marston—the young man was extraordinarily good-looking with his straight, aristocratic-looking features, smooth, well-cut fair hair and the cold grey eyes of an ordinary well-bred Englishman. There was nothing in his appearance with which she could find fault.His manner, too, was perfect. He was obliged more than once to speak to Patricia, but he did so with evident deference. His behaviour was unexceptionable in every sense of the word; and watching Patricia, as she did, with the eye of a lynx, Janet could clearly see that there was nothing at all to complain of in Patricia's manner to him. She came to the conclusion that she had been too easily frightened; and she told herself, very wisely, that another time she would do well not to suspect evil. Therefore she tried hard not to feel sorry when she heard that Mr. St. Just had consented to take the organist's place for a few weeks in Little Waltham Church, of which Mr. Marston was the vicar.CHAPTER VI THE ORGANISTJANET had a good deal to do during the next few days in making preparations for Walter's departure. With the extravagance of youth he was a little inclined to think that he ought to renew all his possessions, but Janet convinced him, though with difficulty, that clothes which looked as though they had been worn a little while were more suitable for the occasion than everything bran new."But one wants to be decently dressed; one must not go like a beggar," said Walter, leaning against the wall and surveying his sister with some disfavour as she emptied his drawers and piled his vestments on the floor."You would look much more like a beggar," said Janet, "if you went with everything perfectly new. They might then think that you had been going about in rags and had not a respectable coat to appear in. You do want another dress suit; you can go and order that, if you like, and some tweeds and knickerbockers," said Janet, looking for a moment with approval at her brother's muscular limbs, "because you are sure to be wanted to tramp all over the estate with Mr. Erskine, and you ought to be properly equipped. But you must really try to avoid looking oppressively new.""Do you think they will dress for dinner away there in the country? What a bore!" said Walter."Of course they will," his mentor answered him, "and you must look as if you have dressed for dinner every evening in your life. Don't let them think us a set of young savages, Walter.""I wish it was all over," said the young man. He was still very boyish in some of his ways. "I wonder if there is anybody besides this Nigel Erskine—any younger brothers or sisters; it would be a lot jollier if there were a big family party.""I doubt whether you would find it so," said Janet, rather grimly. "Don't you see that you are going amongst them as a sort of enemy; you are going in order to take away their home and their property. I dare say they will be quite polite to you, but you must not be surprised if they are not quite friendly.""It will be horribly awkward," muttered Walter, "you make me wish I was not going, Janet.""I don't envy you myself," said Janet calmly, "but I think that with straightforwardness on both sides, and a desire to do the right thing, you will come through all right. I rather wish I was going too.""Oh, come, Janet," urged Walter, boyishly, "I am sure they would not mind."But Janet rebuked him with a frown. "My dear boy, I cannot go anywhere unless I am asked. Now you had better go to the tailor's and see about your clothes. Don't be extravagant, dear, because after all—" she stopped and hesitated a moment. "What?" said Walter, turning back to listen. "Well, I know it is not probable," said Janet, "but it is just possible that there may be a flaw somewhere in your title to the estate, or there may be a will produced which alters matters; so if I were you, Walter, I would not make sure—too sure—of anything until you really know.""You don't really think there is going to be any hitch, do you," said Walter, standing still with a graver look upon his face; and Janet saw quickly enough that although he disliked the circumstances of the visit which he was going to pay he would now be dreadfully disappointed if the inheritance proved to be non-existent after all."It does not seem as if there could be," said Janet, rising from the floor with a good armful of linen, which she was about to carry off for further examination, "but it is the old proverb, 'there is many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip,' you know, and I am the person who always counsels prudence.""You are so prudent," said Walter, "that I believe you will end by doing something awfully silly. People who are so awfully cautious in their youth are always supposed to be rash in their old age.""I can bear the prospect with equanimity," she said. "When old age comes on a little rashness will probably be a pleasant change."But at last Walter was really gone; and after seeing him off by the train, Janet turned back to her home with a little sigh of relief. At any rate, she had sent him off in an unexceptionable condition as regarded his clothes. Certainly, very few of his things were new, but he had no frayed collars and cuffs; and if his socks were mended, the mending was most daintily done. She hoped that he would find favour in the eyes of these new relations; but Janet felt they were disposed to hate him, although she could not imagine anyone hating for very long this bright-haired, sunny-faced, handsome brother of hers, with his frank smile and fearless grey-blue eyes. "Surely they will like him when they know him," she said to herself; "although, poor things, it must be very hard for them. I should not like it at all, in their place, to see an interloper come in and settle down in what I had always thought to be my home—myhouse—the place where I hoped to live and die. No, I am sure I should not like it at all."She said the last words aloud, and Patricia, who was walking with her, turned and smiled. "I know what you are thinking of," she said. "It is those people at Corballis. I should not mind about them, if I were you. I dare say there is a provision for them; there usually is for the younger branch of a family.""How do you know, Pat?" said Janet, rather amused by her younger sister's tone."Oh, we were talking it over at the Vicarage yesterday," said Patricia, blushing slightly. "You know Mr. Marston is a great genealogist, and he told me a great deal about the family and Mr. St. Just.""Was Mr. St. Just there?" enquired Janet, with surprise."Yes; he came in to ask a question about the hymns for Sunday," said Patricia hastily. "Mrs. Marston invited him to have a cup of tea. So we were all talking, and he said there was generally something arranged for the younger branches; and that, of course, if nothing had been done so far, it could be done now.""Very kind of Mr. St. Just to make the suggestion," said Janet, with rather sarcastic emphasis."Now, Janet, don't be disagreeable," said Patricia. "Why should not Mr. St. Just have an opinion on the matter?""Have an opinion," said Janet provokingly. "But why should he give it?""We were all talking together," said Patricia, rather lamely, "and I think somebody asked him what he thought.""Well, as I don't know Mr. St. Just," said Janet briskly, "I cannot say whether his opinion is of any value or not; but he seems to me the sort of young man who is rather too ready to give his opinion and to make his knowledge known.""He plays the organ beautifully," said Patricia, rather irrelevantly. "Would you mind very much if I had a lesson or two from him, Janet?"There was a momentary pause before Janet answered. Then she said, quite gently, "I am afraid I cannot afford any organ lessons for you just now, Patricia.""But he does not want to charge anything," said Patricia, her lovely innocent eyes seeking Janet's face with a curiously child-like expression. "He only thought it would be so nice if I took the service sometimes when he goes away. Indeed, Mrs. Marston said that I might be able by and by to take it altogether; and then, you know, the Vicar would pay me—twenty pounds a year.""What a vast sum!" said Janet, amused by the girl's tone."But Patricia was not accustomed to hearing any mockery of such a sum as twenty pounds. She had never had as much money in her life, and she was a little hurt, therefore, at Janet's tone."Don't you think it would be nice if I could earn so much a year?" she said."Yes, yes, dear, very nice; only I am not sure that I like the idea of your having lessons without paying for them. I think that would be impossible.""I wish you would see Mr. St. Just yourself, and talk to him.""Why should I?" said Janet, who was not at all anxious to make Mr. St. Just's acquaintance. She had seen him at the orchestra, and she was not at all sure that she liked him. Of course, she acknowledged that he was what people called a handsome man, but she could not help thinking that he looked now and then as though he were amused about something, and she slightly resented the faintly quizzical light in his eyes. "What was there to amuse him?" she had said to herself indignantly; "was he not in the society of his social superiors? He seemed to be a semi-professional musician—violinist in an orchestra; amateur organist; probably a teacher of the piano as well, yet he looked like a gentleman, although he had come from nobody knew where, brought not a single introduction, and gave no explanation at all of his stay in High Waltham." In her own mind, Janet was always convinced that the young man was an adventurer; perhaps he thought that Walter's sisters (for by this time everybody knew the story of Walter) would be well-dowered and he had resolved to try to win one of them for himself. Patricia was just the one on whom he was likely to fix, she thought. He would not try the eldest sister, who might be supposed to have a little common-sense, nor would he waste his time on a child like Annabel. But Patricia was just eighteen, simple and inexperienced; she was the very person whom he was likely to try to conciliate. Well, Janet resolved she would be a match for him. If he spoke to Patricia, or gave Patricia organ lessons, it should be in her—Janet's—presence. It seemed to her that Mr. and Mrs. Marston were very unwise in allowing about their house a man of whom they knew so little; but they were rather unworldly people, and Janet felt that it behoved her to be on her guard.Some little errand took her to the Vicarage that afternoon, and she was glad to find Mrs. Marston alone."Well, Janet," said Mrs. Marston, lifting her face to be kissed, "so he is gone?""Walter, do you mean?" said Janet. "Yes, he went this morning. He was very nervous, poor boy.""It is rather an ordeal," said Mrs. Marston. "Of course, he will be inspected by rather critical eyes, possibly unfriendly ones. There is one thing to be said for Walter, Janet—he is very good to look at; and as for Patricia, I don't know what you do to her, Janet—she gets prettier every day.""Do you think so?" said Janet. "She is not like the rest of the family; we were always brought up to think that golden hair and blue eyes were the thing in beauty.""I think that is an old fashion that has rather worn itself out," said Mrs. Marston. "To me there is far more loveliness in Patricia's soft dark eyes than in Annabel's blue—although it is the real rare blue, which ooks as if a bit of the sky had been cut out and framed in the face. Still, I prefer Patricia's.""I am still a little anxious about Patricia," said Janet."Are you, my dear? But you are by way of being anxious about them all, you know. You are like a hen with too many chicks.""And with hawks ready to swoop down upon some of them," said Janet."Indeed!" Mrs. Marston pricked up her ears. "I have not heard of any hawk in the neighbourhood lately. Who is it, Janet?""Oh! I ought not to call him a hawk; and I do not know that he wants to swoop down on any of us," said Janet, rather penitently. "It is only that young organist, Mr. St. Just. He seems to be always getting hold of Patricia and talking to her about music——""And other things besides music, my dear, you may depend on it," said Mrs. Marston sagely."I hear he has been proposing to give Patricia organ lessons.""Well, that won't do her any harm," said the Vicar's wife; " in fact, my dear Janet, if you don't mind my saying so, it would be a very great boon, because the man plays really well, and can show her how to manage that little instrument in church as nobody else could. The schoolmaster makes a frightful hash of things whenever he takes the service, and when Mr. St. Just goes I really do not know what we shall do.""Cannot the schoolmistress play?""No, she is too nervous; she makes mistakes. I was intending in any case to ask Patricia if she could manage the organ, but it would be the greatest possible assistance to her if she could have a few lessons of Mr. St. Just before he goes.""How soon is he going?" said Janet quickly."He said the other day he could not stay much longer.""Who is he?" said Janet impatiently. "Where does he come from, and what does he want here?""I do not know where he comes from," said Mrs. Marston, "but my husband says he is a very good fellow. I do not think you need look upon him as a hawk, Janet.""There is this difficulty," said Janet simply: "that I do not think I can afford to pay properly for organ lessons, and I should not like Patricia to take them without paying for them.""But I do not think you need mind that with Mr. St. Just," said Mrs. Marston eagerly. "He won't take anything for playing the organ on Sundays either: he says he is not a professional.""Not a professional! Then is it not funnier still that he should come to a little place like this and play the organ for nothing?""It is a freak, my dear. Young men do these things to amuse themselves. Now, don't be obstinate, Janet. Do let Patricia have the advantage of his teaching. You can be in the church all the time yourself if you like, or if you are not there I will go myself. Won't that satisfy your sense of propriety?""I am afraid you think I am very foolish," said Janet, smiling a little reluctantly, "but I am always rather afraid that I do not take sufficient care of the girls; and they are growing up so pretty, as you say, that I feel they want a little extra care and supervision.""My dear, you are quite as careful as most mothers. Girls are not chaperoned now in the way they used to be—you must allow a little for the modern spirit," said Mrs. Marston. "You have had so much responsibility that it makes you a little anxious and timid; you must learn to let the girls stand on their own feet.""Yes, I dare say I am foolish," said Janet, with conviction. "I should really like Patricia to have the lessons very much, if you think it would be right to accept them from Mr. St. Just. Only I would much rather pay.""Mr. St. Just has his feelings, too," said Mrs. Marston quietly. "He seems to object to being paid. Don't you know that state of mind, Janet? And there, by the way, there he goes—into the church. He is going to practise a little. Now, if you want convincing of his superiority as a musician, you will walk down with me to the church door and listen for a moment or two. I generally go when I know that he is practising."Janet was a little surprised. Mrs. Marston was not usually a great enthusiast about music, and to find her expressing so great an admiration of Mr. St. Just's playing was quite remarkable. She made no objection to the proposed visit to the church, and for a little while they stood in the porch listening to the strains of exquisite music floating down from the organ-loft and flooding the air with sweetness. Presently they went inside. It seemed a pity to lose even a note of such joyous melody. And there, to Janet's astonishment, the first thing that her eyes beheld was Patricia, sitting bolt upright in one of the pews with a rapt expression upon her face and a dreamy, far-away look in her beautiful eyes. And as Janet listened, she could not be insensible to the beauty of the strains with which the organist charmed her ears. He played like one who had a complete mastery of his instrument, and he drew forth a sweetness of tone and a volume of sound which no one had ever succeeded in drawing from the little rickety organ before.When he had finished, Mrs. Marston looked at Janet with tears in her eyes. "Is it not beautiful?" she whispered. "I cannot think how he manages to extract such music from that wheezy old organ. Do be quick, Janet, and ask him to give Patricia a lesson.""I cannot resist," said Janet, with a little sigh. And an appointment for the first lesson was given forthwith.CHAPTER VII THE INTERLOPERWALTER reached his destination about half-past six in the evening, and as he stepped out upon the country platform, he was at once struck by a touch of freshness in the air—of a pleasant bracing briskness which could not be described as cold, but which was very different from the south breezes of the English valley in which he lived. It was evident that his arrival was expected, for the station master hurried up at once, and the whole staff, consisting of two men and a boy, were immediately on the scene to carry his portmanteau."Ye'll be Mr. Urquhart, I am thinking," said the station master, with a mixture of respect and familiarity which took Walter by surprise. "The Maister has sent a machine for you, and a cart in case ye'd a man with you." Here he looked up and down the platform, but the train was moving on, and no "man" was to be seen."No, I have not brought a man," said Walter. "It is only this portmanteau and a bag. Who do you say has sent?""The Maister.""Oh, from Corballis.""Who else should I mean?" enquired the station master. "He sent the high dog-cart with that big black brute in it, which will kick the machine to pieces if it is kept standing much longer. I will put in your portmantle for you, sir, and Jeems will bring the bag."Rather amused at being treated in so unceremonious a fashion, Walter walked towards the "machine"—a title for a vehicle of any description, with which he was not yet acquainted.The machine in question was a very high dog-cart with red wheels, and between the shafts was one of the finest mares that Walter had ever seen; an animal with a coat that gleamed like satin, but whose arching neck and quivering nostrils showed that she was somewhat difficult to keep under control."Michty me!" exclaimed the station master, as they emerged from the gate, "if it isn't the Maister himself after all, and I thought it was Robert driving.""Robert is at the mare's head," said the porter just behind, as he swung the portmanteau up to the back of the dog-cart.Walter paused for a moment, not quite knowing whom the station officials meant by the "Maister," but when Nigel Erskine turned his clearly-cut features and cool eye upon him, Walter suddenly felt that there was no doubt about the identity of the driver. It was his host himself who had come to meet him, and Walter's heart warmed a little at this mark of consideration."Good afternoon," said Nigel, as quietly as if they had known each other all their lives; "I am Nigel Erskine, and you, I presume, are Mr. Walter Urquhart. Get in, please, Mr. Urquhart, if you can. I am sorry I cannot get down, but I dare not leave the mare for a moment. That is right; you are up? Give the mare her head, Robert. Steady, my beauty!" For the mare began at once to dance on her hind-legs in a way which would have done credit to a performer before the footlights, and both Robert and the porters gave her a very wide berth.Erskine did not seem at all astonished, however. A few encouraging epithets, a steady hand on the reins, and in a moment the dance was over. Robert scrambled up behind; the mare raced along the road as though running for a wager; and Nigel turned to his companion with a smile.It was not in the nature of Nigel to have wished to put anyone's courage to the test; but he had had a good opportunity for doing so, and he realised that Walter had not blenched in the least, although he could not have been used, Nigel thought, to prancing horses like Black Nell.There was a delighted smile on the younger man's fresh, handsome face, and the first words Walter spoke to his cousin consisted of an enthusiastic opinion on the mare's beauty."Yes, she is a splendid animal, is she not?" said Nigel, "I am glad to see you like horses.""I have not had much chance of riding," Walter acknowledged, "but when I can get a mount I ride to hounds at home. That is not very often, though," he added frankly."Do you drive too?""Oh! I have driven some tame old animals along the lanes sometimes—the Vicar's fat pony, for instance," said Walter, with a laugh, "and the local tradesman's one-eyed horse, but I never had a chance with a gee like this. I suppose she takes a lot of driving.""Well, I do not know that I would recommend anybody to take her out unless they knew something about horses," said Nigel, "but with a little practice you will soon be all right. Don't take a whip to her when you drive her, that is all.""Yes, I do not know that I am up to driving her yet," said Walter reflectively; "you would not like it if I let her down and broke her knees, for instance.""Well, it would be a pity," said Nigel. Then he seemed to consider the matter for a moment, and with rather an odd laugh he said, "Of course, it is your own affair; the mare, naturally, is yours.""Mine," said Walter, turning very red. "What do you mean?"Nigel looked at him curiously. "Of course, I believe in the justice of your claim," he said, "or I should not have asked you here.""But my claim," said Walter, in confusion, "does not give me——""It certainly gives you the stables," said Nigel dryly, "with everything in them. You will find some rather nice bits of horse-flesh there. But," he added, noticing Walter's discomposed look, "perhaps you have not realised these details yet.""No, indeed, I have not!" said Walter hastily. "And it strikes me they are going to be very unpleasant."Nigel laughed softly, and as if he were rather pleased. "You won't find them so after a bit," he said. "I understand your feeling perfectly; but it is best to take the thing in a perfectly matter-of-fact, sensible way, without sentimentalising over it. Steady, my beauty! We cannot discuss affairs of state with this animal between the shafts, can we? We must put it off until we get to the Castle. We have no visitors at present. Only the ordinary members of the family are at home. We thought you would prefer it.""Thank you very much." Walter's tone was more grateful than he knew. And again Nigel flashed a sidelong look at him, as if he were trying to find out what manner of young man he were."My mother has rheumatism, and is crippled in her lower limbs. She generally gets about in a wheeled chair. Otherwise she is quite well, and takes great interest in the affairs of the day. She reads a great deal, too," Nigel said. "Then there is a cousin who lives with us—Miss Fenella Rosedale. There is also my mother's favourite doctor—a bit of a quack, I consider him, but a very clever man. He is Doctor—or Professor—Chilworth, as he generally prefers to be called. He is very well read—can talk in a most interesting fashion when he likes, but he is a little uncertain in temper. There is no one else.""You are not so large a family," said Walter, "as the one I left behind.""Ah, there are a good many of you, are there not?""Eight of us," answered Walter. "I am the eldest," he added superfluously, "and my youngest sister is only twelve.""You have another sister nearly your own age, have you not?" said Nigel. He had informed himself a little of his cousin's affairs."Yes—Janet." Walter's eyes brightened as he spoke of her. "She has done everything for us for years. She keeps house, manages the children, takes care of the garden—she does everything, in fact. I always go a good deal by Janet's advice when I have anything important to decide."Nigel suppressed a smile. "I suppose," he said, "that there has not often been anything very important?""Things have been important to us," said Walter earnestly, "that matter very little to outsiders, you know. There was the question as to whether I should accept that situation in the Bank, for instance, and whether Guy should be sent to Cambridge. Oh, there are a lot of things cropping up which I had to consult Janet about. I think we were rather like the parents of a large and troublesome family." And Walter's gay laugh fell pleasantly on Nigel's ear.Nigel was very pleased with his young kinsman. The new heir was a gentleman—that was one comfort; and also he was a simple-hearted, boyish youth full of good spirits and good temper: the sort of young laird who would be universally liked when the tenants had recovered from the first shock of the unexpected surprise.They came at last in sight of the old turreted castle, standing four-square on the gravel and turf, with wide spaces of masonry at the bottom of the walls where no luxuriant creeper had ever been taught to grow, so as to hide the nakedness of the wall. It was not the old custom in Scotland to cover the outside of the building with evergreens and creepers; it was generally thought that they injured the masonry and brought the house into disrepair. Lady Mary, who was an Englishwoman by birth, had made a few futile efforts soon after her wedding to plant some rose bushes at the base of the house, but her husband and the old servants had looked sourly on her efforts, and in spite of all her care they had withered away in no long space of time. Lady Mary always believed that the gardener had done them a mischief in order to spite "the English lady."But the great trees waved their branches round it, and the greensward, and the beds of flowers in the front of the house were bright and fresh, and as the dog-cart pulled up before the door, the sound of falling waters came pleasantly towards his ear. He had looked at the building with a kind of daze, astonished, as he drew near; he had expected something different, probably of a more Gothic character, and he was a little surprised when his companion coolly mentioned the date of the old ancient part of the house. "That rather crumbling bit of red wall that you see in the background," said Nigel, "is the oldest bit of all. It is supposed to date from 1360. The house was enlarged and rebuilt in 1455; then a part of it was burnt down and left to go rather ruinous, but it was ultimately built up again in sixteen hundred and something—I forget the exact date. That is why we get these little turrets, or tourelles, at each corner of the building; they show traces of French influence, and are such as you get in a French château.""I didn't know it was so old," said Walter. He felt guilty, for it seemed to him worse to come and steal away his ancestral home dating back so many centuries, than if the house had been merely modern, let at a rental of so much a year; probably Nigel divined the feeling, for he smiled a little, and said indifferently:"Bare-looking old place, is it not?""I like it," said Walter, "I think it is grand."And Nigel, looking at him, suppressed a little sigh which came involuntarily to his lips.The mare again made demonstrations, but she was pacified at being led away to the stables, and Nigel then took his guest by the arm and led him into the old hall, the doors of which were held open by two of the men servants, while the stately old butler bowed them a welcome. Walter was not quite quick enough to see what Nigel knew well enough—that the servants were sullen. They knew very well why he had come, and they were quite resolved to depart in a body as soon as Lady Mary and her son quitted the castle. In their eyes Walter Urquhart was merely an interloper, in spite of his direct descent from the old family. They had all grown accustomed to Nigel as the Master of Corballis, and they were not at all disposed to give to a second master the esteem and affection with which they regarded the first. But Walter, while courteously returning their greetings, failed to notice their faces, and Nigel was rather relieved; he believed him unobservant."Will you be introduced to my mother now, or would you rather wait till dinner time?"Walter hesitated, "I am very untidy," he said, "and covered with grime, but I think I should feel happier if I had seen her for just one moment, just to pay my respects, you know."There was just a little touch of humour in his smile, as well as apology, and Nigel smiled in return. "He'll do," young Mr. Erskine said to himself, as he at once piloted Walter to the drawing-room. "He has got the true spirit in him, after all." But at the great wide double doors, which opened into the drawing-room, Walter held back just a moment."You don't think that Lady Mary will think I ought to have waited to make myself clean and respectable before I presented myself to her? I only want to do what you think she would like best.""I am very much of opinion," said Nigel, "that she will take it as a compliment that you wished to see her at once."He threw open the door, and himself announced the visitor. "And mother," he said, "this is Walter Urquhart. He wishes to pay his respects to you at once, before he goes to his room."Walter felt a little blind; the room was so big, so light, so bright that it dazzled him at first. The white windows, with their panorama of lawn and distant hills, intermixed themselves with the Boucher panels, with the Watteau-like groups of dancing court ladies, with Cupids and blue ribbons in between. How he got across the white Aubusson carpet and between all the shiny tables, with their hoards of silver and precious articles of vertu, he scarcely knew; but he found himself at last by the side of a lady whose dignity rather alarmed him, even while he could not fail to admire her beauty. The snow-white hair, the delicate oval face, took him by storm; and when Lady Mary held out her hand, Walter, in his turn, completely charmed her by dropping on one knee and kissing it as he would have kissed the hand of the Queen. Then he stood up, blushing deeply, knowing in some occult manner that, although the old lady was smiling, there was a saddened look of friendly interest in her face which had not been there when he first entered the room."I wonder where you learnt your pretty manners from," Lady Mary said, with a little gentle amusement in her tone. "I remember your grandfather behaving in exactly the same way to me, I don't know how many years ago.""I knew very well," said Walter, "that I could not be the first.""And where learnt you your flattering tongue?" said Lady Mary, who, Englishwoman as she was, sometimes adopted a Scottish phrase. "Nigel, your cousin puts you to shame. But here is someone younger than I upon whom you can practise your agreeable speeches, Mr. Walter. This is my grandniece, Fenella Rosedale, who lives with me, and who reads aloud sometimes. Now then, have you not a pretty speech for her, too?"But Walter was dumb. He might have a pretty speech for old ladies, but he had none for young ones, especially of such surpassing loveliness as Fenella turned upon him. Possibly, in many people's eyes, she would never have been considered prettier than his own sister Patricia; but she was of a new type to Walter, and one so rare and so exotic that he could not sufficiently admire it. He bowed very low, blushing again, which Lady Mary noticed he had a habit of doing; and Fenella also turned a little pink, and smiled at him with a sweetness which he thought veritably angelic. The doctor of whom Nigel had spoken was not present; and when a few more remarks had been interchanged Nigel drew his cousin away, saying that he would probably be glad to go upstairs, and that they would all meet again at dinner time.CHAPTER VIII ILLUSIONLADY MARY did not say very much more that night to Walter, although she watched him a little out of her bright and friendly eyes. Nigel was a little amused at the way in which his mother had succumbed to Walter's fascinations."You were not long in coming over to the enemy, mother," he said to her half-banteringly, as he sat down beside her big wheeled chair; while Walter, Fenella, and the Doctor formed a little group together at some distance."Oh, my dear," said Lady Mary, "I never could resist 'a braw man,' as you Scots would call him. He certainly is 'braw' enough for anything, and the image of all the Urquharts that ever were before him. Fancy that boy a clerk in a banker's office!"Nigel laughed. "He would have been thrown away; there is no denying that. I suppose"—and an irresistible bitterness crept into his tone—"that it will be my turn for the banker's office now. Perhaps Urquhart could get me a situation.""Nigel, my darling, don't speak like that!" said his mother, with a little break in her voice. "Don't! I know what it means to you! Of course, it is ruin and heartbreak to both of us. I say to both of us, although it matters very little to me where I spend the last few years of my life. But it is for you that I grieve, because your career is gone. We must not talk of these things now," she said softly, pressing her eyes with a handkerchief. "We have never been in the habit of discussing our grievances in the drawing-room, have we? We will keep them for your den upstairs.""Rather say that we must try to get rid of them altogether," said Nigel. "There is not much use in succumbing to circumstances; I have no doubt that I shall find a career somewhere else.""Ask Fenella to play something," said Lady Mary. "Her music will perhaps help to banish sad thoughts from our minds."Nigel went towards his cousin with his mother's request, and Fenella disappeared in quest of her instrument, which proved to be the violin."Are you fond of music?" she said, throwing a smiling glance at Walter, as he stood near the piano, at which Nigel was just about to sit down."I like listening to it," said Walter, "but I don't think I am musical myself—at least, I don't play anything. I have a sister who is awfully fond of music; she plays the violin too, sometimes.""Perhaps I ought to be afraid of entering into competition with her," said Fenella, with a faint suggestion of delicate coquetry in her tone. She half laid down her bow, but took it up again when Walter replied:"Oh, my sister is only a school-girl, and she has scarcely had any lessons; she does not play much besides jigs and dances for the children."In which statement he was doing Patricia great injustice, for, considering the few advantages she had, she played remarkably well, although not with the skill which Fenella soon showed that she possessed. As a matter of fact, it was more than skill—it was little short of genius. She played very modern music, such as Walter had never heard before, and it almost seemed to him as though her music wove clouds of enchantment around him, so that when she had finished he felt dazed and bewildered, as though he had dwelt in an enchanted world. He noticed afterwards that the Professor, whom he already distinctly disliked, had been staring hard at him nearly all the time that the music had been going on, and Walter found the man's dark glittering gaze exceedingly oppressive. The music went on for some time, and Walter could find few words in which to express all he felt concerning the beauty of Fenella's playing; but perhaps his eyes and his attitude spoke for him, for both were almost reverential.Fenella's delicate dark beauty and ethereal grace had taken him by storm; her playing completed the charm. She seemed to him almost like a being from another world, and it was with difficulty that he could keep his eyes from her. It was only when she had left the room, to put her violin in its case, that he was able to give any attention to what Nigel was saying."How do you like the piano?""I thought it very good," said Walter, hesitatingly. "But I am afraid I listened more to the violin than to the piano.""I don't wonder at that," said Nigel. "Still, the piano deserves a little observation for its own sake. It is, as you will observe, a very old-fashioned one, but it has a sweet tone, and with care ought to last some years yet. Do you see the panels? They are all painted—some say by Meissonnier. Now, these plaques are all ivory and gold. It is quite a curiosity and a work of art, and, as you will observe, it was painted to match the room. But there is a big modern grand piano in the next room, and a cottage piano or two for young people upstairs, so that this one need not be hard-worked."The Professor now spoke, in a somewhat obsequious manner. "Mr. Urquhart scarcely knows as yet the wonderful collection of treasures in these rooms. This room—the White Drawing-room, as it is called—is full of them; I have spent hours in making a catalogue of the treasures in this one compartment only. That little silver table yonder, for instance, contains objects which are really worth their weight in gold; and there is a little collection of miniatures by Cosway and others which Mr. Urquhart will no doubt be pleased to examine.""Mr. Urquhart will have plenty of time to look at these things," said Nigel carelessly. "But it would not be a bad thing if you were to complete your inventory, Professor; it would be a great boon to us just now.""I am afraid," said Walter, blushing at his own ignorance, "that I don't know much about these thing. I don't believe that I appreciate antique things at all, unless they are really beautiful, that is. I am afraid that your inventory of curious things would be of no use to me, Professor.""Oh, you will learn better by and by," said the Professor, with a sharp look, first at Walter and then at Mr. Erskine. "A taste for these things comes gradually; it comes with knowledge. If Mr. Erskine will allow me, I should like to show you some of the most curious things myself, and explain to you why they are so precious.""I should accept that offer if I were you, Urquhart," said Nigel. "It is generally said that whatever Professor Chilworth does not know about curiosities is not worth knowing.""I shall be very much obliged to him," said Walter; and the Professor bowed low, as if in acknowledgment of an honour conferred upon him. Then Fenella glided back into the room, and Walter found himself blind and deaf to everything but what she said and did.Of course, this state of mind was patent to everyone in the room—not to say everyone in the house, for the servants were continually observing him from afar. Lady Mary smiled and raised her eyebrows at the instantaneous conquest which Fenella had made; Nigel, who was accustomed to Fenella, laughed, and was astonished; It was only the Professor who preserved his equanimity and did not seem to find anything amazing in Walter's sudden infatuation. But Walter himself would have been amazed, and Lady Mary perhaps even more so, if he and she could have heard a low-toned conversation which was held between Fenella and the Professor, in a room which was usually known as "the Professor's Laboratory," at the unconventional hour of eleven o'clock at night. The room was a large one, rather sparsely furnished, and rather remarkable for a curious old vaulted roof and a low stone fireplace with dogs, both evidently of very ancient date. There were a good many small shelves and tables, which had been fitted up for the Professor's use; and there were some uncanny-looking objects in glass jars which were calculated to repel an unwary intruder. The Professor was rather fond of gruesome objects, and the skeleton which he had had mounted and set up in one corner of the room had a somewhat uncanny effect. Perhaps he was charlatan enough to pose a little to the outer world as a mystery-monger, for the great black pot which hung by chains over the fire on the hearth, the skull on the mantelpiece, and the mummied hand which he delighted to keep on his writing-table were strangely suggestive of objects which might have adorned a wizard's room on the stage. In the dim light which proceeded from an old iron lamp, filled with a curiously fragrant oil, Fenella's white figure looked strangely out of place; and yet it was plain that she was no stranger there, for her eyes dwelt upon the skeleton and the other weird objects of the room with perfect indifference."You made a good beginning," the Professor said to her."I did not do it all," said Fenella, averting her face from him."You think not?""Surely you were helping," said Fenella. "I could feel your influence all about me. It helped me to play and to smile and talk when I would rather have been perfectly passive. Your mind and your will were active enough.""Yes," said the Professor, looking thoughtfully into the red embers of the fire, which still burned upon the hearth, "they were active enough; but I must tell you that they produced little or no impression upon that young man.""No impression!" said Fenella, almost incredulously. "Why, I have heard you say that you could hypnotise almost anybody if you could get them to look at you steadily for two or three minutes. I noticed that Mr. Urquhart and you were gazing rather hard at one another, and I supposed that you were making use of your opportunity.""For the present," said Professor Chilworth, in a tone of announcement, "he seems to be absolutely impervious. I could not establish any control over him at all. It seemed almost as though he understood what I wanted, and was steeling his will against mine. Still, what does it matter? What we wanted to do is already done. It may have been that my will helped, although I was conscious of his resistance.""You were satisfied, then?" said Fenella."Yes, for the time being I was fairly satisfied; but you will have to lead him on, do you hear? You will have to make him much more deeply in love with you than he is now before we can hope to obtain any result. You must use all your arts; you must bewitch him, madden him if you can; it all depends upon that. When he is truly subjugated you can make terms with him, and his subjugation ought to mean a fortune for you.""I suppose I ought not to do it," said Fenella, lifting her chin and looking dreamily at the skull on the mantelpiece. "But if I try you must do something for me in return.""Oh, I know what you want," said the Professor, a trifle brutally. "You want that foolish old book of charms I told you about. I do not think that you will find any of them can be carried out.""Why not?" said Fenella, still looking away from him."Well," said the Professor, with his most scientific air, "for one thing the ingredients in the receipts and philtres are no longer obtainable, and I am inclined to think that some of the herbs used are poisonous. If you make anything according to those old receipts you had better try it upon an animal of some kind first.""But there are others," said Fenella slowly, "which have nothing to do with food or drink."The Professor paused—it might even be said that he started a little. "There are some which pretend to bring harm to the bodies and souls of those upon whom they are worked, but these are foolish old superstitions, Fenella, and I am surprised that you should take any interest in them.""I had a nurse once," said Fenella, still looking away from him, "and a man who had promised to marry her went away with somebody else. She told me that she did not want to punish the man, for she knew that she could get him back again, but she would like to do something to the woman. One day, when I went unexpectedly into her room, I found her dressing a doll, and I saw at once that it was not a doll for me; it was a sort of model—a representation of the woman whom she hated. And do you know what she did? She used to stick pins and needles into that doll, and she had a little wax figure, too, which she used to stick up before the fire, and which wasted gradually away, so that you see the old superstitions live still.""Yes, but they are of no avail," said the Professor authoritatively. "And they are very dangerous—dangerous to the person who uses them, I mean, for they are apt to unsettle the mind." He looked at Fenella rather uneasily."In some cases," said Fenella, "it seems to me that they are also dangerous to the person upon whom the spells are worked. I dare say my old nurse called upon evil spirits to help her, and I have no doubt they did, for the woman died.""The woman whose image she had made?""Yes, she died of decline that winter. It began with a sort of rheumatic attack," said Fenella, quite simply and gravely, "and then she wasted away—quite like the image by the fire.""You don't believe that?" said the Professor."I do not know," she said; "I sometimes think it would be rather amusing to try. Of course, one would not do anybody any harm.""I think," said the Professor, "that I had better keep that book of charms out of your way."There was a gleam of mirth in Fenella's green-grey eyes as she looked up to him. "Then you do believe in them, after all?" she said."I believe in the possibility of your poisoning somebody with a horrible philtre of some sort," said the Professor, "but I don't believe that pins stuck into a doll or a wax figure set up before a fire will have any evil effect upon a persons's health.""Don't you? Well, I don't know," said Fenella dreamily. "In this queer Border country, where so many old beliefs live still and where you hear ghost stories by the dozen it is rather difficult to keep from believing in the powers of evil, is it not? And it sometimes seems as if they were so much more powerful than the good. If I came into contact with any of these dark influences I am sure I should beg them to be on my side.""Perhaps they are on your side already," muttered the Professor. "I think, my dear," he said, "that instead of talking about evil spirits and black magic you had much better say your prayers and go to bed. But perhaps you don't say any prayers?""Oh, yes, I do, of a kind," said Fenella. "But I don't know that they are always addressed to the God that other people pray to. I am going now. Mind you show me that book to-morrow.""Be careful," said the Professor, turning out the lamp before he opened the door. "Don't let anyone see you as you go back to your room.""Everyone is fast asleep by this time," she said. "Nigel is the only person likely to be up; and if I meet him I shall say I have been to you to get something for toothache.""A novel and ingenious idea," said the Professor. "But I trust that you will get back to your room unobserved."He made her a low bow with rather a mocking effect, and she glided out into the darkness of the corridor without another word.CHAPTER IX WALTER'S PLANSDURING the days which followed, Walter found that more and more of his time was taken up by consultations with lawyers and agents, with accountants and surveyors. His claim to the property was very easily made good, especially as the Erskine family did not contest it, but the details of the change of ownership took a very considerable time to settle. Walter often rebelled against the close attention to trivials which seemed to be demanded of him, and asked rather peevishly why the matter could not be settled en bloc, without going into each separate item; but he found that not only the lawyers and the accountants, but Nigel was against him."The accounts must be seen to properly," said Nigel, with freezing stiffness, "or you never know how much is required to keep up the house and estate, and how much rent and merely personal expenses.""As if I wanted to know!" Walter drummed on the arm of his chair. But Nigel interrupted him with elaborate gentleness."My dear Walter," he said (for he called him Walter by this time), "you have a duty to me as well as to yourself. I am the outgoing tenant, so to speak. I wish you to know that I have not abused my trust, if I may call it so.""I wish," said Walter, "that I had never for a moment entertained the idea of making this claim at all. Look here, Nigel, why can't we settle it between ourselves, instead of calling in an army of lawyers and people. You take half, and I'll take half. Then we shall both be satisfied.""Excuse me, I should not be satisfied at all," said Nigel promptly. "You forget that I have my character to keep up; I value my reputation quite as much as you do yours.""Why, of course," said Walter, "I don't mean that you should do anything against it, but I think there ought to be some better way out of it than the one which we seem to be taking. I don't quite know what Lady Mary will do——" he stopped attentively as if expecting some information, but he did not get any out of Nigel."Lady Mary?" repeated the young man, with a polite intonation, and a face of stone."If you won't discuss it," said Walter, angrily, "I'll go and talk to Patullo.""Just as you like," said Nigel, who knew very well that Mr. Patullo was not at all likely to receive Walter with effusion, seeing that he was a devoted adherent of the Erskine family. But, of course, if Walter liked to interview him, it was no business of his.Walter therefore, in a storm of impatience, descended on the office of Mr. Patullo, and spent a considerable part of his morning in making his views clear to that gentleman. It was noticed by the clerks in the office that Mr. Patullo, who had hitherto been very bitter against Walter Urquhart, seemed to have changed his views concerning him, for he came with the young man to the door—a very unusual sign of favour—and he shook hands with him most cordially when Mr. Urquhart took his leave; for he quite approved of what "the new Laird " proposed to do.His idea of dividing the estate was, of course, impracticable; but it was quite a right thing that he should wish to settle upon Nigel what would be considered a very good portion for a younger son, and that also he should offer Lady Mary an annuity of five hundred a year."You are cutting yourself down, Mr. Urquhart," the old lawyer felt obliged to protest. "You are practically reducing your income by a thousand a year; and, although you are very well off, a thousand a year makes a difference.""I wish it were two thousand!" Walter cried out indignantly. "I am sure I could afford it. But I am afraid he would not take so much from me.""Well, to tell the truth," said Mr. Patullo drily, "I think you will find it difficult in getting him to take this much. It is a different thing with my lady. Everyone would feel that some little compensation was due to her, although, of course, in the ordinary procedure of things, she would have retired to the dower house with her son. Only, it's Mr. Erskine upon whom the blow comes hardest. And for that very reason you may find some difficulty in inducing him to take anything from you.""Can't you make it a deed of gift," said Walter, "so that he need not be asked beforehand?"Mr. Patullo humm'd and ha'd, and finally agreed to the proposal. "Though, of course, Mr. Urquhart," he said cautiously, "I cannot undertake to conceal the matter altogether, supposing I am questioned about it. I will not tell lies for you nor any other man.""Surely there is no occasion to tell lies?" said Walter. "Mr. Erskine will know nothing about the matter till it is acquitted, and then you can refer him to me.""Well, well," said Mr. Patullo, "I am not saying but what it is a very generous proposal on your part. We are all sorry to lose Mr. Erskine from this neighbourhood. But we feel that, if a change had to be made, we have not made a bad one. And so far that is a very good thing.""There are a great many of disagreeable details connected with the transfer of the property," said Walter frankly, "and I don't like them at all; but at the same time I suppose I have a right to take what belongs to me; and besides," he added, with some seriousness, "I have brothers and sisters to think of; and of course I hope to make it an advantage to them.""I just hope," said Mr. Patullo to his partner that afternoon, "that the young man is not going to turn out a bit of a spendthrift on our hands. He threw away ten thousand pounds this morning as if it were a crown piece, and then there is the annuity for my Lady Mary—it's another ten thousand pounds locked up, although it will revert to him by and by. I almost wonder that he said nothing about little black-haired Miss Fenella; for after all, the change is harder upon her than on almost anybody else."Walter thought himself very wily for not having offered to make any gift to Fenella, but he knew that she had not a penny to call her own—that she was entirely dependent upon the Erskines. Well, that might be a good thing from Walter's point of view. He did not want her to accept him simply because she was poor, but he did think she might be more gently inclined to him when she knew that he could give her everything she desired than if she were entirely free and independent.Lady Mary, not knowing the provision that Walter was making, both for herself and her son, was sometimes a little melancholy and nervous at this period. She asked Fenella to play to her oftener than usual; and when Fenella was playing, the tears used sometimes to trickle quietly from Lady Mary's eyes and prevent her from seeing the knitting or embroidery that she still liked to keep in hand.She was beginning to wonder where she should go to spend the rest of her days. It seemed to her a desolate thing have to turn out of the old house that she had occupied ever since she was a bride, and live perhaps in lodgings, or with relations who did not particularly want her. She had had plenty of invitations, for Lady Mary was very much beloved by her friends; but as yet she had not accepted any one of them. Nigel had asked her not to accept any until he should have decided what he was going to do.He himself was afraid of the result that the sudden change might have upon his mother's delicate health. He could not disconnect her from the big, luxurious rooms in which she had been enthroned for so long. In fact, it seemed to him as if nothing remained to her but a life of misery, and an old age that was not to be of very long duration.Meanwhile Walter was maturing his plans. He had a great liking for Nigel's mother, and sometimes he came in, rather shyly, between afternoon tea and the dressing-bell, in order to sit with her and let her talk to him. He had not very much to say in return—he had not yet learned how to talk—poor Walter! But he could reply to her questions, which was perhaps quite as much as she expected him to do."And so you are the oldest of eight?" she said, one day, surveying him smilingly. "And you all live together, Nigel tells me.""Except Guy, who is at Cambridge," Walter said, "and, of course, he is at home too for part of the year.""Who sent him to college?" said Lady Mary."I think he sent himself," said Walter, with a half laugh. "He got scholarships—bursaries, as you call them here—up to about one hundred and sixty pounds a year, and, of course, my sister and I managed to provide the rest. Guy has had rather a hard time of it, but perhaps I can make things a little better for him now.""What have you lived on?" said Lady Mary. "I hope you won't think I am asking rude questions, but I feel as if I should like to know a little more about you, as you are going to live here one day.""Oh, the money all belongs to Janet," said Walter, with perfect calm. "Then, until lately, I have been earning about ninety pounds a year, and, of course, we pooled the funds. It came to about four hundred a year for the whole, so I believe; but Janet always did the accounts. She knows about these things better than I do.""Is she very clever?""In some ways I think she is," said Walter. "She is what people call capable and energetic; but I don't think she cares very much about books.""A housewifely sort of creature," suggested Lady Mary."Well, I suppose she is," said Walter again, feeling rather inclined to laugh, yet scarcely knowing why, but that the words seemed inappropriate to Janet. "She manages everything—she has poultry and a garden and bees, and I believe she makes money by them all.""Do you mean," said Lady Mary, rather hesitatingly—"that she disposes of what she grows, or makes?""Yes, she sends it to the market at High Waltham."Not at all discomposed, he saw that Lady Mary looked a little shocked; but he was so accustomed to Janet's mode of dealing with her eggs and vegetables that he took it almost as a matter of course."She sends a good deal of fruit, sometimes, and quantities of vegetables; she is very successful as a gardener.""And how does she manage to get rid of the things?" said Lady Mary, rather anxiously.She had a vision of Walter's sister standing at a stall in the market-place with a basket of cauliflowers in her hand, but Walter relieved her mind."We have a little donkey cart," he said, "and she sees it go off every morning—at least, if she has anything to send—with Fred, who is the groom and general factotum about the house. He takes the things to a stall in the market-place or to a shop, and I believe there is never anything left in half-an-hour. Then he drives back with the empty cart, and Janet counts up her gains."Lady Mary's eyebrows contracted a little, as though she were not quite accustomed to this mode of procedure on the part of a young lady. She proceeded to ask further questions about Patricia and the younger girls, and her brow evidently cleared when Walter spoke of Patricia's music and Annabel's loveliness and good looks.He proceeded to tell some stories about pranks played by the younger boys which seriously disturbed Lady Mary; she had a vision once more, and this time it was of boisterous schoolboys shouting and frisking up and down the polished floors of the corridors and upsetting tables and priceless treasures in the drawing-room. She was not very greatly relieved, either, when Walter said that they were very good lads, and were always perfectly quiet and well-behaved when Janet was at home."But it seems to me," said Lady Mary, "that you all depend a great deal too much on your sister Janet.""We have got into the way of it," Walter said, "I suppose." And it must be confessed that Lady Mary took a distinct dislike to the managing elder sister, and wondered how the poor old castle would fare under such an energetic régime.One of Walter's amusements was to ride occasionally with Fenella, and sometimes with Nigel. On the whole he preferred to ride without Nigel's company, because he could talk more easily with Fenella when they were alone together.He rode fairly well, but, of course, he had not Nigel's seat or hand; and it sometimes seemed to him as though the grooms rather rejoiced in putting him upon the horses that were the least easy to manage; though, of course, they did not allow him to incur any serious danger. His driving powers were found less good than his riding, and although he would not for the world have shown his feelings, he was conscious of a little dismay when he came out one morning in order to drive Fenella to a neighbouring town, and found that Black Nell had been harnessed for his special benefit.Now, as Walter well knew, Black Nell needed very careful handling; and although he believed himself capable of dealing with her, he rather wished that Fenella were not to be his companion. Black Nell would want all his attention—he was sure of that, and thus his drive with Fenella would be spoilt."Do you mind Black Nell?" said Fenella, in a demure and rather a malicious tone, as she came out of the house and saw Walter surveying the beautiful animal with a certain gravity of countenance."Mind her? No. Why should I mind her?" said Walter."She is a little frisky at times, that is all," Fenella answered; "but, of course, we shall take Smith with us, and I don't suppose Black Nell will run away.""She is all right if you give her her head," said the groom, handing the reins to Walter."Oh, yes, I think she will be all right," the young man answered, for he was not going to betray any kind of nervousness in Fenella's presence; and, indeed, it seemed as though his confidence were to be justified, for after a few of the usual kicks and plunges, Black Nell skimmed down the road with her accustomed fleetness and sure-footedness, and the little group of grooms and stable-men who had surreptitiously collected together at the gate to see them go, looked at each other and drew long breaths of relief."Hope they will get through all right. It was Miss Fenella ordered Black Nell," said one of the men. "I don't know what Mr. Erskine would have said, for he had ordered specially that no one was to drive Black Nell in harness but himself. She has got a nasty temper, and if you hit her with the whip it's all up with you. I don't think myself that Mr. Urquhart is quite equal to Black Nell just yet, though he is doing very well considering that he ain't had much practice."But the forebodings of the men turned out to be more correct than even they had expected. Black Nell ran away, and there was a very bad "spill" about two miles from the castle; Fenella was not hurt, but the poor mare had to be shot, and Walter was brought back unconscious, suffering from various broken bones as well as concussion of the brain.CHAPTER X A TELEGRAM"WALTER thrown out of a dog-cart—and lying insensible!" said Janet, looking at the telegram in her hand. Her face had turned white and her hands were trembling: Patricia sprang to her side, fearing that she would fall."What is it, Janet dear?""A telegram—from Mr. Erskine. Lady Mary 'hopes I will come at once.' I am afraid he must be very badly hurt. I must get ready, Patricia. I must telegraph to them that I am coming.""Rest a minute, Janet. There is plenty of time. Let me fetch you a glass of water.""Nonsense!" said Janet, speaking with sudden sharpness. Possibly it was the offer of water that dispelled her sensations of faintness; for, of all things in the world, Janet hated to seem helpless and weak. But there was no use in hiding the fact: the perusal of that telegram had made her turn so sick and so cold that she could never scoff at a swoon again. She knew very well that she had narrowly escaped falling from her chair.Patricia picked up the telegram. "Sorry to say Walter has been thrown out of dog-cart and picked up insensible. Doctors think he wishes for you: my mother hopes you will come at once. Will meet you at station. Nigel Erskine.""I wonder when there is a train," she said."We have no railway guide in the house," said Janet. "Can you run over to the Vicarage and ask Mr. Marston to look out my trains for me? I will go upstairs and pack my things while you are gone. And perhaps you could order the fly on your way back.""Yes, Janet." And Patricia was gone.Janet picked up the telegram again and looked at it wistfully. Walter had always been her favourite brother, and she had felt genuinely delighted (in spite of her doubts on Lady Mary's account) by his succession to the Corballis estate. But what a terrible thing it would be if he were seriously hurt—if he did not get better! Of course, Guy would be the heir——But Janet could go no further. The tears rose to her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. She made her way upstairs, collecting the things she wished to take, and giving some vague instructions to her younger sisters and the startled maid; but, in reality, her mind was in a whirl; and it did not seem to her as if it were she who spoke, but someone quite different—someone whose heart was far away and whose body moved and spoke mechanically, as if without a soul.Patricia sped rapidly to the Vicarage, but disappointment awaited her. Mr. and Mrs. Marston were both away from home, and the parlour-maid knew nothing about Bradshaw. "Perhaps I had better borrow it,"Patricia said; "I cannot make out the cross-country trains by myself.""If you please, Miss, here is Mr. St. Just," said the parlour-maid. "I believe he's very clever about trains."And Mr. St. Just came walking across the lawn, tall, cool, suave, and bewilderingly handsome—at any rate, to Patricia's inexperienced eyes. But he was certainly a very good-looking man."Can I do anything for you, Miss Urquhart?" he said, observing her evident distress and the explanatory air of the parlour-maid."It's a train Miss Patricia wants to find, sir," said the maid agreeably. It was plain that Mr. St. Just stood high in her favour."A train to Corballis," gasped Patricia. "My brother has met with an accident and my sister has been telegraphed for. I came to ask Mr. Marston to look out a train for her: I never can understand the railway guide, and Janet—I am sure she is too upset to be able to look them out herself.""I will see what I can do, if you like," said Mr. St. Just quietly. "I know where Mr. Marston keeps his Bradshaw: it is in the study. We may go into the study, I suppose, Jane?""Oh, certainly, sir," said Jane, with effusion; and she went so far as to accompany them to the study door, and then to pull up the blinds for them, in a way that showed goodwill—and perhaps a little curiosity.St. Just set to work in a very business-like way with the railway guide: he took a pencil and a piece of paper, and jotted down the times of the trains that Janet could possibly take: he did it so easily that Patricia looked at him with new admiration. "It doesn't seem difficult to you at all!" she said."That is partly because I know something of that part of the country. I used to have friends there; so I have travelled over the line once or twice. There is no train that gets in by daylight to-day: I think your sister had better wait until to-morrow before she sets out.""I think she wants to go without delay.""Yes, but she won't gain much by starting this afternoon. She will have to take a slow train, and she runs a risk of missing the connection at Sheffield. If she waits till nine o'clock to-morrow morning, she can take the express. Besides—she can't travel at night all alone.""I'll tell her. But I don't think anything I say will make much difference," said Patricia frankly. "Janet always decides for herself and goes her own way.""Still, you can tell her which would be the better way. Show her the times of the trains—I am sure Mr. Marston would agree with me."She took the papers from his hand, thanked him, and was gone. She knew she had no time to lose."The eldest Miss Urquhart is a fine creature," said St. Just to himself, as he watched Patricia's swift progress along the road, "but I should prefer a more amenable person for—for a sister, or a wife. That brown-eyed Patricia—she is as near my ideal of a perfect woman as anyone I ever saw. But she is young—she may alter still. It's not wise, perhaps, to pin one's faith on a girl of eighteen! And yet—if I were not the organist!—I sometimes think she would look at me kindly; if, at least, her sister did not frown. There never was a chaperon so lynx-like as Miss Janet."And he laughed a little to himself; for Janet's fears were patent to him, and he had a certain mischievous pleasure in playing upon them now and then.As regarded the trains, Janet was more reasonable than Patricia had expected her to be. She telegraphed to the Erskines to know whether there were any danger, and if she should take the night train. The answer was flashed back in as quick a time as was possible—" No present danger. Take express to-morrow morning. Walter a trifle better."Janet had time, therefore, to get her household into order, and to give a great many injunctions to her sister and her maids respecting the various activities which she controlled. But her last and most solemn injunction was reserved for Patricia in the solitude of Janet's room before she went to bed."Patricia, dearest," she said. "I leave you in charge. You are the eldest girl at home, and I think the children will all obey you. But you must be very good and very wise yourself, or they will not think it necessary to do what you tell them.""Yes, Janet," said Patricia."Annabel is always flighty and foolish. I don't want her to think that you talk more than usual to people I don't approve of—just because I am away. That would be giving a very bad example, would it not?""I think I know what you mean," said Patricia, turning away her face. "It's the organist.""Well, yes, dear, it is. Don't see more of him than you can help while I am away. I was almost sorry to hear that you asked him about the train.""Oh, Janet, as if that mattered!""It did not really matter—so long as it does not lead to anything else. Promise me, dear Pat, that you will avoid him as much as you can. He always seems to me to be pushing himself forward, somehow or other: I can't think how it is. And remember, you are not to go on with the organ lessons unless Mrs. Marston will kindly sit with you.""Oh, really, Janet! As if it mattered—in church! You don't want chaperoning in church!""I suppose not," said Janet, rather helplessly. Then she bethought herself of Patricia's many duties at home. "But really, Patricia, you will have so much to do that I don't think you can waste your time over the organ. If you do all that you have promised—all that I do when I am at home—you will find yourself quite sufficiently employed.""Yes, I shall," said Patricia. "And, indeed"—for she was a docile girl—"I will be very careful what I do, Janet."So Janet went off by the early train next morning, and Patricia settled down to do her elder sister's work as well as her own; and she had great difficulty in getting through it. She had no difficulty, however, in avoiding Mr. St. Just, for she had no time either for orchestral or for church practices; and she felt that to go to church on Sunday morning was really all the exercise she could allow herself for the week.But Mrs. Marston would not let her off so easily. She insisted on inviting the whole Urquhart family to tea, for she knew very well, she told her husband, that Patricia was fretting herself to fiddle-strings in a vain attempt to do all that Janet required from her. And so it happened that Patricia found herself comfortably seated under the cedar tree on the Vicarage lawn soon after tea, with everyone else of the party out of hearing and out of sight. She believed they had all gone to the fruit and vegetable garden in search of plums, and she began to wonder whether she should go too, when a step on the path near the windows made her start. Looking up, she was not surprised to see Mr. St. Just, for he came almost every Sunday afternoon, shortly before the half-past six service, in order to consult the Vicar about the hymns that should be sung. Evidently he had been to the house, seen the vicar, and was beginning to walk back to the church again.Patricia gave him a little bow—it was more of a nod than a bow, perhaps—and then he lifted his hat and hurriedly crossed the lawn to her side. "Now what can I do?" thought Patricia, in sad perplexity. "I can't get up and walk away. I wonder what Janet would do, and how she would 'avoid' him. He will be obliged to go away in about five minutes, so it surely does not matter, after all."Meanwhile she noticed that Mr. St. Just's face was paler than usual."I hope I am not disturbing you," said the organist, with some trace of uneasiness in his manner. "I beg your pardon most humbly if I am; but I wanted to know whether you thought of having another organ lesson or two. You did not come last week.""Were you there?" said Patricia innocently."Yes, I wasthere. I stayed from six until nine, thinking you would be sure to come.""Oh, Iamsorry. I never thought of your waiting. You see there is so much to do when Janet is away, that I am afraid I cannot find time for any organ lessons, Mr. St. Just.""No time! Not even for two or three half-hours in the week?""No, I am so very busy."He came a step nearer. "Would you not throw over one or two of your smallest and most unimportant duties—just to take a lesson now and then?""I'm afraid not," said Patricia faintly. Then, with a sort of desire to shelter herself behind someone else, she added, " Janet would not like me to neglect my duties.""It is absurd! What duties can you have—a child like you? It is the time when yououghtto be taking lessons and practising. You have a great deal of musical talent, and you ought to cultivate it.""I do try to cultivate it as a rule," said Patricia. "It is only at this time—just while Janet is away—that there are so many other things to do.""When she comes back, will you have some more lessons?" he asked; and she was struck by the intensity of his tone."Oh, I hope so. Of course, I can't promise—it is Janet who manages everything for us."To her dismay, he struck his heel angrily into the ground. "Are you not old enough to have a will of your own?" he said. "Must it always be Janet—Janet! I shall begin to hate the name of Janet before long.""Mr. St. Just!"Patricia stood up, erect and dignified. Surely Janet had been right, and this young man, in spite of his good looks, did not know how to behave! St. Just's face changed as if by magic: he turned very red and looked exceedingly abashed."Miss Urquhart, I sincerely beg your pardon. I did not mean to say anything against your sister—whom I admire and respect extremely; it was only that I thought you might trust your own judgment a little—especially when she is away——""It is just when she is away," said Patricia stiffly, "that I like to do exactly what she wishes.""I know—I quite understand, and you are perfectly right. Forgive me for speaking so rudely—so impatiently!""Not at all," said Patricia composedly, as she began to move towards the vegetable garden. "It does not matter in the least.""And are you not going to have any more lessons, then?""I hardly think so. We may be going away before long.""And you mean that you—that I—that we shall never meet again?""Very possibly," said Patricia, with quiet complacency.Whereupon, to her great surprise, Mr. St. Just took off his hat, made her a very low bow, and then turned back to the church without another word.CHAPTER XI JANET'S ARRIVALJANET arrived at the station for Corballis Castle, as Walter had done, in the cool of the evening just as the sun was setting. It was a trifle colder than it had been when he arrived, and she shivered a little as she stood for a moment on the platform, for she had forgotten to put on the wraps which were desirable, if not absolutely necessary, when once she had crossed the Border. But she had not waited more than a minute or two before she was accosted by a pleasant-looking, clean-shaven man, whom she instinctively recognised as Nigel Erskine. He took off his hat as he came towards her, and then held out his hand in such a friendly fashion that Janet put her fingers in it with a sensation of relief, as though she knew she had found a friend."It is Miss Urquhart, is it not? I am Nigel Erskine," said the young man, as she had expected. "I hope you are not very tired. I have better news to give you of your brother. He opened his eyes to-day and regained consciousness, and the Doctor thinks that if fever does not supervene he will do very well.""And is it likely that he will have fever?" said Janet, looking at hi with something like terror in her eyes."Oh, no, no, certainly not. The doctor is on his guard, you see, and will take every precaution. We are fortunate," Nigel went on," in having a doctor in the house as well as one in the village, and, if necessary, we could easily get a physician down from Edinburgh. But I feel sure it will not be necessary to call in a physician," he added hastily. "Is this all your luggage, Miss Urquhart? You are very moderate. I di not know that a lady could travel with so little."His smile drew forth an answering smile from Janet, although she was not yet quite satisfied on Walter's account. But certainly she felt more hopeful now thb she had seen Nigel Erskine face to face."The carriage is here waiting for you," Nigel continued. " I brought a closed one, as I thought that the air was rather chilly. You will allow me to escort you, I hope, or do you prefer to be alone?""Oh, no," said Janet, "I should like you to come and tell me about Walter, please.""There is not very much to tell," said the young man, after he had handed her into the brougham and they were rolling swiftly along the smooth, white turf. "He was driving a rather spirited young mare in a high dog-cart, and it seems she bolted. Perhaps your brother had not had much experience in driving. At any rate, I know that Black Nell, a we called her, was always a difficult beast to handle. She came to grief at last over a heap of stones by the roadway. It was rather a wonder that the three people in the dog-cart were not more seriouly injured. Your brother came off worst, I am afraid.""Who was with him?" said Janet."My cousin, Fenella Rosedale, and the groom. The groom managed to slip off behind, and was not hurt; Fenella was rather shaken and bruised, but that was all.""How much was Walter injured?" said Janet breathlessly."He broke two ribs and his left arm. Then there was considerable concussion of the brain, which rendered him insensible. But we hope that there is no other injury. The doctor seems to think he will now do very well.""I cannot think what possessed him to go out driving," said Janet. "He has scarcely driven anything before.""So he told me," Nigel answered, with an irresistible laugh. "He said he had driven the Vicar's pony, and a half-blind cab horse.""Yes, that was all," said Janet promptly. And then something in Nigel's sunny smile impelled her to smile also, although she did it a little reluctantly. "Poor Walter," she said, with a touch of self-reproach in her tone, "it seems too bad to laugh at him, doesn't it?""But we were not laughing at him, were we?" Nigel asked. And he thought,meanwhile, what a charming girl Walter's sister had turned out to be, and how utterly unlike anything he had imagined. Walter's references to his sister had impressed Nigel and his mother chiefly with the idea that she was a hard-working, energetic little housekeeper, and nothing more. Walter had not even done justice to her good looks. "Oh! she is pretty fair," he had answered vaguely, when Lady Mary had once asked if Janet were handsome. "She is not light-haired, like most of us," he had added. "She is a good deal darker than I am, and Patricia is darker still. Patricia is very pretty."And from this answer Lady Mary had concluded that Janet was plain.But Nigel did not think her plain. He saw a soft, quivering, somewhat anxious-looking little face, with cheeks which were paled by fatigue, but were probably tinged with a pretty pink on ordinary occasions; the features, although delicate, were clearly cut, and the hazel-brown eyes under the dark lashes seemed to be full of changing lights and varying expressions. Janet's hair was certainly not golden like Walter's; it had more of bronze in it. But as it waved and glittered in the light of the evening sun, Nigel thought it the prettiest hair in the world. He found it a most engrossing occupation, whenever he could surreptitiously look at her, to follow the curves of the little tendrils which curled of themselves about her temples; they were bewilderingly intricate, and could not readily be disentangled by the eye. For this reason Nigel spent a good deal of time in observing them.But he was not too much absorbed to forget his manners, and therefore he began to talk on various matters, trying to lead Janet's mind away from Walter as much as possible. He told her the names of the hills and streams that they passed: he pointed out a few of the great houses scattered on the hill-sides, and from descriptions concerning the country he passed to the subject of Corballis Castle and its ownership."You must think that we are a very long time settling the affair," he said frankly. "But the fact is that there has been so much to arrange and so much to provide for that I have not seen my way to leaving the Castle just yet. Besides, your brother tells me that he prefers my staying for a time. But, of course, I feel that I am only a guest."Janet coloured sensitively. "Walter says that you have been most kind, most generous, to him," she said. "Not many people would have received him like a friend instead of like an enemy.""Walter is very easy to get on with,"Nigel rejoined. "We feel ourselves fortunate in handing over the Castle to a man who appreciates it, and who is so absolutely certain to do the right thing with the estate.""I am sure Walter will always try to do the right thing," said Janet gratefully. "He was always a dear boy, and never gave anyone any trouble.""You have quite a large family to look after," Nigel said."Not one too many," cried Janet brightly. ''I don't know what I should do without any one of them although I suppose we shall all have to separate in course of time. Walter will be the first to go.""The first to go'?" said Nigel, in astonishment. "But I think he expects you all to come here with him.""I am not at all sure that that would do," said Janet, with decision. "You see it would be leaving all the friends that we have known all our lives, and settling down in a strange place. And then Walter might get married, and not want so many brothers and sisters about his house—no, I think it will be very much better for us to stay where we are.""Excuse me for saying that if you do you will be making a very great mistake," said Nigel, with as much decision as Janet herself could have shown. "Do you mean to say that you are going to condemn that poor brother of yours to live in Corballis Castle—which is rather a cheerless place, especially in winter—all alone, with no amusements or distractions? Why, of course, he will want you to be the mistress of his house, and his brothers to go out shooting and fishing with him, and his sisters to brighten up the place with their fun and gaiety. I think, Miss Urquhart, you will be doing him a very great injustice if you leave him here alone. What can a man do with himself in such circumstances? He might get to know undesirable acquaintances; he might even take a bad turn altogether. I think you take a very great responsibility when you decide upon leaving your brother by himself.""I did not think of it in that way," said Janet, with rather heightened colour." thought that he would have so many friends here that he would not want us.""I think you had better wait until you see the house," said Nigel. "Of course, we who have lived there so long are very fond of it. But I believe it is generally considered a rather forbidding kind of place. Oh, now we get our first view of it"—as the carriage swept round a corner. "Now, tell me whether you think a young man would be quite happy, if he lived there all alone."Janet put her head out of the window and gazed. "It is certainly very big," she said, as she resumed her usual position. "And I am afraid I do think it is rather gloomy. But I suppose it is more cheerful inside.""It is cheerful enough when it is well furnished with guests," said Nigel, "and I have often thought what a difference it would make to the place if there were half-a-dozen children laughing and singing about the stairs and corridors. n my opinion it would be the making of the place. And, really, Miss Urquhart, the Castle is rather like a big barrack; you could stow away twenty people without disturbing anyone, or seeming to make any appreciable difference. In my opinion the sooner you get your brothers and sisters own to the Castle, the better it will be for Walter. Especially after my mother and I depart.""But I hope you are not going soon," said Janet, in a sort of distressed voice. "Any sooner than is perfectly convenient, I mean. It is dreadful to me to think we are turning you out. Indeed, I don't see why you should not stay, and I know Walter thinks as I do——""Oh, but I am afraid we cannot do that," said Nigel, with a gentle laugh. "The house cannot really belong to two people, you know. Either your brother is the master and owner, or I am the master and owner, and one of us must cede to the other.""And what are you going to do then?" said Janet, looking at him in all simplicity, and not thinking that the question might seem impertinent if asked with the slightest degree of familiarity.But Nigel looked at her with very much the same expression, and answered with the greatest straightforwardness: "I am hoping to get a post of some kind offered to me through some friends to whom I have applied. The worst is I am not fit for very much, and I should like open-air work best of all. If I could be manager, or factor, as we call it here, of some big man's estate I should not mind it at all, but such posts are not very easy to get."Janet wondered in her own mind why Walter did not offer him some such post on the Corballis estate, but she also considered that Nigel would probably not accept it, for it would be a difficult and painful matter for him to serve where he had once ruled. Perhaps, after all, it would be too difficult a post, and she wisely determined not to say what had been in her mind. But Nigel read her thoughts as though they had been printed on the open page of a book.By this time they had reached the Castle, and Janet, leaving the carriage, followed a servant through the hall, without particularly noticing where she was going. She was ushered straight into the White Drawing-room, where Lady Mary and Fenella were awaiting her arrival with con-siderable interest. Janet got through the interview pretty well, but she was too tired and nervous to take much notice of the things and people around her. She was very anxious also to see Walter. In reply to her earnest inquiries, she was told that the nurse would not allow her in the sick-room until she had rested and eaten: "It was bad for the sick man," the woman said, "to have a visitor fresh from the train: she cannot help bringing in a sort of atmosphere of hurry and bustle, and it is very important to keep Mr. Urquhart quiet." But she had made these remarks before she saw Janet. And Lady Mary, to whom they had been repeated, smiled a little as she met the gaze of Janet's quiet eyes, and thought to herself that the girl did not look as though she could bring a disturbing influence into one's room."I am surprised," she said, when at last Janet had been conducted to her own apartment. "I fancied from what Walter said, that his sister was quite a strong-minded woman, a maîtresse femme, as the French say, but she looked quite gentle and quiet.""Yes, almost as though she were going to cry," said Fenella."I did not notice that," said Lady Mary; "she seemed to me quite composed.""There was a tear trembling on her eyelashes once or twice," said Fenella. "She thought us all very hard-hearted for not letting her go to her beloved brother at once. It is quite evident that Mr. Walter Urquhart has always been adored by his family.""A handsome boy like that is sure to be adored," said Lady Mary briefly," and I don't wonder at it. Really, it is a pleasure to look at poor Walter! he is exceedingly good-looking.""Why do you call him 'poor' Walter, Aunt Mary?" said Fenella, in an innocent tone."Well, really, my dear, I don't know. Unless it is," said Lady Mary, in a meditative tone, "that I have noticed how these exceedingly handsome men are sometimes followed by persistent ill-luck, as though Fate were jealous of the one gift which she had given so abundantly. You see that one of the first things that he has done is to smash the dog-cart, kill the mare, and break his own bones.""Poor fellow!" said the girl, "I hope he won't continue to have such bad luck. And, at any rate, it was lucky for him to step into a fortune all at once. In that case I think it was Nigel who had the ill-luck.""Oh, yes, you are right," said Lady Mary, her face falling. She sighed deeply and began to roll up her knitting—generally a sign with her that she was a little upset. "I had almost forgotten it," she said, "since Walter was taken ill. But it's a bad thing to forget; things are so much worse when one comes to remember them again. You must keep me in mind, Fenella, that the house is not ours now; that we are only staying here on sufferance.""It is so very difficult to bear that in mind, especially as Walter is so amiable," said Fenella. "He never gives himself the airs that you might expect.""He has a very good disposition," said Lady Mary. "And I don't know, but I think that in that respect his sister is very like him. She is not brilliantly handsome, of course."CHAPTER XIITHE NAUTCH-GIRLWALTER was still very weak, but he was delighted to see his sister, and soon after her arrival he began to improve rapidly. Janet was a little surprised to find that Fenella had been admitted several times to his room, and she could not help making a remark to the nurse that she thought Mr. Urquhart was to be kept very quiet."Yes, that is quite true," said the nurse. "But on the other hand, we found that Miss Rosedale's visits tended to soothe Mr. Urquhart more than anything else. Miss Rosedale seems to have a calming influence upon him. If she stands by his bed for a few minutes he can generally get off to sleep."Janet made no comment, but she was not particularly well pleased. She had not taken a very great liking to Fenella. There was something antagonistic between the two girls: they seemed to look at each other from opposite sides of a gulf. Fenella was always quite polite and obliging; Janet was coldly civil, but it was evident from the first that there was not likely to be much love lost between them. Janet felt—although she could not exactly define—a danger. Sometimes she thought that Fenella was in love with Walter, and was trying to attract him; but sometimes, when she noticed Walter's rapt expression, she gave him all the credit for the attachment, and wondered that Fenella was not more susceptible. She hardly knew whether to resent Fenella's lack of responsiveness or Walter's hot-headedness the more, but she felt very glad that she had come, in order that she might, at least, keep Miss Rosedale out of Walter's room, which Janet did not think was the proper place for Fenella when there was both a nurse and a sister to attend to his wants.But she noted that never did she leave the sickroom for an hour in order to take a drive with Lady Mary or a walk in the park with Nigel, who constituted himself her companion, without on her return finding Fenella installed beside Walter's couch, sometimes reading to him, sometimes talking in lw monotonous tones, sometimes merely sitting with her eyes upon his face as if lost in a waking dream.Janet began to feel irritated—she did not like to complain, for it looked as though she were jealous of Fenella; and everyone in the house seemed to think it was so angelic of Miss Rosedale to sit with a poor invalid that Janet was really ashamed of her own dislike to her, and she tried very hard to keep her impatience to herself. Once she ventured to speak to Walter on the subject. But even then she only ventured upon the question:"Doesn't it rather bother you, dear, to have Miss Rosedale so often in your room?"Poor Walter opened his large blue eyes upon his sister with an expression of reproach which went to her heart."Bother me? Of course not. How could it bother anyone to have that lovely creature sitting beside one? I think it's awfully good of her to come at all.""I thought that as you knew her so little," said Janet, "you might sometimes wish her away.""I could never wish her away," said Walter fervently. "I only wish I had the right to keep her with me always. Yes, Janet, I know what I am saying; my head is all right now, thank Heaven.""Do you admire Miss Rosedale very much, then?" said Janet, in a small voice."Admire her? I think her just perfection. Why, Janet, where did you ever see anyone like her, so slender, so graceful? Just like some graceful lily on its stalk, with her eyes like stars, and her cloudy hair waving about her brow——""My dear Walter, I don't think she is a bit prettier than Patricia."Walter made a movement as if he would have raised himself up in bed in his astonishment, but fell back groaning, half with pain and half with indignation."You must be blind, Janet," he said. "Patricia? Why, she is a mere chit, and Fenella is a woman—a lovely accomplished woman with real genius. But you should hear her play the violin. It is divine, it is superb—it is like music from another world."Janet gave up argument on that point when Walter began to talk about the other world. There didn't seem much use in discussing the matter further. If Fenella were an angel visitant it was plain that she must take precedence of all the ordinary women—sisters and aunts—whom he had known before. She did, however, say to the nurse that she thought Miss Rosedale's presence tended rather to excite than to soothe her brother; but the nurse didn't at all agree with her, possibly because she was able to leave her post whenever Fenella came into the room, because Fenella very much preferred to remain alone with Walter.Janet liked Lady Mary with all her heart. She also found Nigel a very agreeable companion, but she could not make up her mind to like Fenella, and she felt curiously repelled by Professor Chilworth.The friendship which existed between him and Fenella seemed to her almost unnatural; the fierce-eyed, haggard, dark-browed man seemed to have so little in common with the graceful young girl, whose cheek was sooth and pure as that of an infant, and whose eyes were radiant with pathetic helplessness of early youth. They were not so careful to hide their intimate acquaintance from Janet as from the rest of the world.Two or three times Janet came across them in the embrasure of a window or the angle of a corridor with their heads close together, and sometimes with Fenella's hand on the Professor's arm. Once the Professor started up and seemed to wish to give an explanation."My pupil," he said to Janet, indicating Fenella with a wave of his long white fingers, "is becoming an adept in the hypnotic art. I am teaching her to make fresh passes so that she can impose her will on that of another, just as I at this moment lay my hand on hers."He had, in fact, been holding Fenella's hand when Janet came on the scene."Do you practise hypnotism?" said Janet, a little coldly."I have studied it," said the Professor, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "I have even lectured upon it; but of course, Miss Urquhart, busily engaged with the cares of a family, is not likely to have read anything about my lectures, although they attracted some attention in their time.""I am very ignorant, I know," said Janet good-naturedly. "And I hope you will pardon me my ignorance, Dr. Chilworth; but, as you say, I am too busy as a rule to read newspapers."The Professor glowered at her. If there was anything which he disliked it was to be called "Dr. Chilworth," instead of "Professor." Only Janet didn't know that, and the title of Professor was a little strange to her lips.He made her a queer, abrupt little bow, then turned round and retired down the corridor, muttering something to himself as he went.Janet was left alone with Fenella, from whom she did not like to walk away. The two girls stood and looked at each other for a moment. Janet's usually tranquil sweetness of aspect was just a little ruffled. Fenella's cheeks were colourless, but the curved lips indicated a slightly malicious smile.Janet looked into the grey-green depths of her luminous eyes, and wondered what it was that lurked beyond those strange lights and shadows. Something there was in Fenella's soul which she did not know how to read."And do you really know something about hypnotism, too?" said Janet at last, with a vague effort to free herself from what seemed like a kind of bandage of the senses, for Fenella's green eyes seemed to dominate her will."I? I know almost as much as the Professor," said Fenella slowly. "And in some ways I think I know more. I am a better medium than the Professor. I have more connection with the spirit world than he.""The spirit world?" Janet's blood ran cold within her. What did this extraordinary girl mean, and what was it that Walter said that her music belonged to another world? Janet had heard of mesmerism and cairvoyance and strongly disapproved of them.To come face to face with a person who practised these unlovely arts, as in her opinion they were, was simply staggering."But surely you don't mean that you can hold intercourse with spirits?" she asked.Possibly Fenella was desirous of trying her credulity, for she simply arched her eyebrows a little and said calmly:"Why not?""I don't say that it is impossible," said Janet hesitatingly; "but I certainly thought that it was one of the things forbidden.""I think you are old-fashioned," said Fenella coldly. "You have got old, early Victorian ideas. Don't you know that in these latter years people have revived the old practice and beliefs of the sorcerers of the Middle Ages. The reason is that we find they knew a great deal more than we do, and it is because we have left off using their methods that we are so lamentably behind them in many ways. Don't you know"—her eyes gleaming, as if with half-expressed mirth—" that there is still a Witches' Sabbath and a Black Mass, it is still said, for those who want to worship the Evil One."Janet recoiled. "I am sorry to hear you talk in this way. I didn't think it was possible for anyone nowadays to talk in this way.""Where is the wickedness?" said Fenella, laughing. "I only said it was done by others. Still, I have seen some strange things done in my time. Some the Professor has shown me, and some I have found out for myself. There are little simple charms that one can practise—charms to change a person's feelings towards you, or to cure a disease, or even to produce one——""Surely you are trying to talk nonsense," said Janet, rather in the tone which she used to Annabel when that young person had done something particularly outrageous. "Don't you know that it is mere heathenism to use charms and dark incantations?""But I am a heathen," said Fenella persistently."You are no heathen," said Janet, with indignation. "You are a Christian woman, born in a Christian land.""Oh, you don't know," said Fenella, her queer impish-spirit look in her green eyes. "To begin with I was not born in a Christian land. I was born in India, and I learnt many things from my grandmother there before ever I came to England; and secondly, I am not a Christian woman, having never been baptised.""Never baptised?" said Janet. She looked at Fenella with an eye which suddenly saw the Oriental character of the girl's elusive beauty. No wonder she was slender and small-boned; with wrists and ankles like those of a child, and dainty delicate feet and hands. No wonder there was the faintly brown tint beneath her eyes, and on her nose, and that her hair was like clouds of night.For a moment Janet seemed to see her no longer as an Englishwoman at all, but as as a brown-limbed dancing-girl, with wreaths of flowers round her hips and bosom, and star-like blossoms in her hair.This was no doubt a mere fact of imagination upon which Fenella had counted, for the girl said immediately, with smiling maliciousness:"You saw me then, did you not'? You saw me as I ought to be—the Nautch-girl, with her scented flowers and her tambourine. I am glad you saw me, Miss Urquhart; it shows you have the faculty of vision. I can assure you that you will see a great deal more than this.""What nonsense," said Janet angrily. "I saw nothing—I only imagined for a moment in my own mind——" Then she paused."Does Lady Mary know that you were never baptised?" she said."She will not believe it," Fenella answered calmly. "She was told that I had been taken into a church and water poured over me, but she didn't know that it was only a heathen temple; that I was never taken to the Christian church at all. I have told you because I knew you would be so shocked. You never came across anyone like me before, did you?""No, never," said Janet."Would you like to have me for a sister-in-law," said Fenella mockingly. "You would be very proud of me, would you not? Walter worships the ground I tread on. You have found that out, I suppose?""But he does not know what I know. If he heard what you have been saying, I don't think that his admiration of you would last very long," said Janet. "Englishmen do not like to hear their friends—their wives or their relations—speak as you have been doing just now.""I think I could undertake to manage Walter, thank you," said Fenella, very softly. "I don't think I could say very much that he could entirely disapprove. You see, when I am with him, my dear Miss Urquhart, I raise a kind of magic mist around me—the veil of illusion wraps me round and Walter sees me through the veil. Nothing you can say will make him see me differently, unless I choose to show myself to him; and, poor boy, he is so very devotedly attached to me that I don't like to wake him from his dream."She sank back into a cushioned window-seat near which she had been standing, and the daylight flickered through the stained glass of the window and made bars of gold and crimson and azure across her where she sat. The rainbow tints gave her a curiously uncanny appearance, and Janet did not know how it was that an impulse seized her suddenly to turn and fly. She had an odd sensation of having seen the serpent who tempted Eve in Paradise.It seemed quite characteristic of Fenella that that evening after dinner she should say quite quietly to Lady Mary:"Miss Urquhart has not seen me dance. Don't you think that Miss Urquhart and Mr. Urquhart, too, would like to see me dance?""Yes, dear, certainly," said Lady Mary, with comfortable indifference. It was the first time that Walter had joined the family circle since his accident. The doctor had allowed him to be moved on a couch into one of the sitting-rooms on the same floor as his bedroom, and out of compliment to him the whole family sat there. But Janet wondered how Fenella meant to dance without music, for there was no piano in the room, but she had forgotten that there are many dances for which the music can be made by the person who performs.Then in a few moments Fenella reappeared in a characteristic costume. Her white skirt was studded with silver ornaments, and a pink silk scarf enfolded her almost from head to foot. It was seen, too, that she carried a pair of cymbals and a sort of native tambourine, which she handled with all the dexterity of an Indian dancer. Her movements were at first slow, and almost languid, and the strokes of the cymbals sounded like silver bells.Gradually the pace quickened. She moved from side to side; she threw herself backward and forward in extraordinary movements which seemed almost impossible to a person with a backbone, and finally the dance became maddeningly fast and the musical instruments clashed like brazen gongs. From this frenzy of movement the dance had gradually quieted down to a slow, rhythmic balancing of herself and waving of her arms which suggested the "wreathed pauses" to the enchanted Vivien, and very gradually it sank to absolute motionlessness. The dance was done.Walter was enchanted. The Professor applauded loudly, but Nigel and his mother remained, Janet thought, a little cold."I don't much care for those Indian dances," Lady Mary was heard to say. "I thought Fenella was going to give us something that she learnt at school." And Janet wondered whether that were the sort of dance which was performed before the demon altars of the great heathen temples in the land which gave Fenella birth.CHAPTER XIIITHE SEANCEIT must be confessed that after her strange interview with Fenella on the stairs Janet held rather aloof from her. Not that she quite believed all that Fenella said. She knew enough of girls to be aware that they are often subject to semi-hysteric moods and tempers, in which they are scarcely answerable for what they say or do. Fenella looked like a "neurotic" person: it was perhaps hardly to be wondered at that she should sometimes behave like one. As to her claim to communications from the other world and her knowledge of white—or black—magic, Janet regarded such things as nonsense, and was not disturbed by her statements in any way.Nevertheless, she had a chill sensation when she came suddenly into her brother's room one day and found the Professor and Fenella quite evidently engaged in an attempt to put Walter into a mesmeric sleep. Fenella was holding his wrists while the Professor made the usual passes with his hands. Walter's eyes were half-closed, but it did not seem to Janet that he was asleep. In fact, when she spoke, his eyelids flashed open immediately."May I ask what you are doing with my brother?" Janet enquired drily.The Professor stopped short with a start, but Fenella did not relinquish her hold on Walter's wrists. It was the nurse who came forward to explain, with rather an apologetic air:"Mr. Urquhart had a bad night, and Professor Chilworth thought that he might get a little soothing sleep through a few of these magnetic passes: they are said to be very tranquillising sometimes.""But the person always has to yield his will to the influence of another, has he not, nurse?""Oh, I don't know much about it," said the nurse, with the insouciance of her tribe. "I only know that Mr. Urquhart's doctor advised it, and I never interfere with the doctor's orders.""You are very wise, nurse," said the Professor suavely. "It is a pity this young lady does not take a lesson from you. Well, Mr. Urquhart, shall we try again?""It is no use," said Fenella, "when Miss Urquhart is in the room. She is an adverse influence.""I wish you would go away, Janet," said her brother restlessly. "We were in the midst of a most interesting experiment when you interrupted us. Perhaps we shall be able to resume it if you will kindly go away.""Do you want to send me out of your room, Walter?" said Janet, deeply hurt."Only for a little time; don't take offence," said Walter, rather crossly. He was evidently not himself, for he seldom showed such petulance to his sister. "Take hold of my hand again, Fenella: it is wonderfully soothing and delightful; the touch of your hand.""His voice sank drowsily again, and Janet hastened to leave the room in which her presence was not desired. Half-way down, however, she stopped short, asking herself whether she ought to leave her brother so utterly unprotected, so entirely at the mercy of an unprincipled man and woman. For thus, in her anger, did Janet designate Dr. Chilworth and Fenella.She had a horror of the occult sciences; a horror which she had probably imbibed from Mrs. Marston, who disapproved of them save under severe restrictions and used in strict accordance with the teaching of science. She believed that to give up one's will to another was almost a fatal act, not easily to be repaired. And she thought with dismay of the future—supposing that Professor Chilworth and Fenella Rosedale were to establish such an influence over Walter that he would do their will rather than his own.Ought she to interfere? Could she interfere, seeing that Walter was of age and the Professor was his medical adviser? She hesitated, still pausing on the landing where there was the cushioned window-seat and the painted window; and as she hesitated, Nigel came down the stairs and almost passed her by."Mr. Erskine!" she said. And then the colour flushed her face at the thought that she had called him, and that perhaps he did not want to stay. " I beg your pardon; I am afraid you are busy.""Not a bit of it; I have nothing whatsoever to do," said Nigel quickly. "Can I be of any use to you, Miss Urquhart? Is not Walter so well? You look anxious.""I am anxious, but not exactly because Walter is ill. Mr. Erskine, if you would be so kind—would you go up to Walter's room and walk straight in?""Walk in? But may I do that, do you think?""Yes, you may; I give you permission. If you knock you will spoil everything; you must see what I want you to see. And the room is open to anyone just now; there were others in it when I left—only a minute ago.""Very well," said Nigel, half laughing, to cover some embarrassment. "You are responsible, Miss Urquhart, if I blunder!"He mounted the steps lightly, two at a time, and she sat on the window-seat, clasping her hands together. Perhaps it would be no use; the s#x00E9ance might have terminated before his arrival. Janet waited, with clenched hands and tightly-closed eyes.Some minutes elapsed before he reappeared. Then he came down slowly, looking more thoughtful than angry or discomposed."They were trying to send Walter to sleep," he said. Then, seeing a sudden change in her face, he enquired: "Don't you like it? Don't you approve?""No, not at all. Oh, I am sorry you went. I thought you would be as much shocked as I was myself."Nigel tried not to smile. "My dear Miss Urquhart, hypnotism has been proved to be a very powerful medical force. No doubt it has its dangers, but the same thing might be said of almost any medicine we take. Strychnine or arsenic, for example, are deadly poisons when taken in a certain quantity; they are valuable medicines as prescribed in a doctor's dose.""You think it won't do Walter any harm, then?" she said, in a low voice."I certainly should not think so. You are afraid of some control being established over his will by another person?""Yes, I am.""If the person were thoroughly honourable and straightforward, there would not, I suppose be that difficulty?""I am not sure," said Janet, with a puzzled look. "I think it is a bad thing for anyone to be under the dominion of another—good or bad. Each person had better be independent." Mrs. Marston would have clapped her hands if she had heard Janet deliver herself of such a sentiment."Well, that is true—unless there is some way in which a patient can be helped by surrendering his own will.""I am sure Walter cannot.""But you do not think, I hope, that Professor Chilworth and my cousin Fenella would knowingly do your brother any harm?""Oh, not knowingly. They would think it was all for his good. But that is where I cannot possibly agree with them. Walter does not want his will weakened; he wants it strengthened. He is too easily led.""I see. And yet I believe that great good has sometimes resulted from the wise use of hypnotism. And, in order to show that our minds are free and open," said Nigel, with a reassuring smile, " I have promised that the Professor shall show us some of his marvels—that, in short, we will sit and look on while he performs a little modern magic for us in Walter's sitting-room to-night. Now you must not say ' No,' for I promised in your name as well as my own.""Must I go? I would a great deal rather not.""Oh, you must go to take care of Walter; and I will go to take care of you—both. It will be nothing more than a conjuror's show. Don't you like conjuring? I do.""Yes," said Janet, hesitatingly."Then you may make yourself quite happy. I have seen Maskelyne and Cook do far more remarkable things than our good Professor can achieve. At half-past nine to-night, after my mother has gone to bed we are to adjourn to Walter's room and witness a little white magic.""Won't it excite him too much?""They say not; they say he will sleep beautifully afterwards. Come, Miss Urquhart, I can't allow you to be prejudiced. You must try to see the good in everything—even in Charcot's experiments."Janet did not quite know who Charcot was, but thought it better to remain silent, and Nigel felt that he had scored a point.But if a chilly and sceptical spirit could have prevented any "manifestation" in the evening, that spirit belonged to Janet. She looked upon Professor Chilworth's doings as so much imposture; she was indignant with Fenella, who acted as the Professor's assistant. The room was darkened, and the four persons present (not including Walter, who was, of course, lying on a sofa) placed their hands upon a table and remained for some time in silence. Then a sweet, unearthly voice uplifted itself in the distance (apparently), and sang a well-known hymn. A light, cold wind seemed to sweep through the room, and then the table began to revolve rapidly and occasionally to tap the ground once, twice or thrice.Professor Chilworth captured the unruly table, and forced it to submit to ordinary laws. He asked it a few commonplace questions, to which it replied by raps; then it ceased to move, and the Professor again asked for silence.Across the darkness floated the vision of a white, spiritual-looking hand, slightly phosphorescent in appearance; then flowers descended from the ceiling and were placed in the hands or the laps of the persons present. There was nothing particularly new in the exhibition; it was the sort of thing that has been done a thousand times, but to Janet—and still more, perhaps, to Walter—it seemed curiously impressive. When the "spirit hand" had disappeared and there seemed to be no more flowers, the lights were turned up, and Fenella was thrown into a magnetic trance. She did all the customary things; obeyed the Professor's commands, even when they were ridiculous and meaningless, and answered questions in a way which startled Janet, who had never seen anything of the kind before. Then she told the company that Janet had a letter in her pocket from a dark-haired, dark-eyed girl at a distance, who was just then walking in a garden with a young man beside her. Janet, who had a letter from Patricia in her pocket, winced and turned pale as the words were said. "I see them under the trees together," said Fenella, whose eyes were closed and who looked as if she was entirely unconscious of anything or anybody in the room. "She puts her hand through his arm, and he bends down to kiss her face; she cries, and says something about her sister—I cannot hear what he replies. They are fading away; I cannot see them now.""Who was it?" said Walter, in a puzzled whisper to Janet."Nothing—nobody.""But have you a letter from anyone in your pocket?""Well, yes—Patricia.""A dark girl: it fits perfectly—but who is the man she was seen walking with under the trees?""I don't know—I can't tell," said Janet, in a troubled voice. "It is all nonsense: there is no truth in it."But she was so distressed that she approached Fenella after the sitting and asked her to repeat what she said she had seen. Fenella eyed her all over in a contemptuous way, and answered very curtly:"I can't possibly tell you. I was in a hypnotic trance. I have not the slightest remembrance of what I said.""Do you never remember?""Never," said Fenella, turning her back rather rudely on Miss Urquhart, so that Janet knew it was useless to ask any more questions. But it was a pity she could not have heard the few words that the Professor and Fenella interchanged hen everyone but themselves had gone to bed and they lingered for a few moments in Walter's sitting-room to pick up a few "properties" which perhaps they did not want other people to discover—wires, for instance, and a model hand in a kid glove, flowers, phosphorus and luminous paint."You frightened Miss Urquhart bout her sister.""Yes. I have heard Walter say that she is a prude, so I thought I would give her something to think about.""I dare say she will go home in consequence.""All the beter if she does.""Yes, exactly so. If you do not make some headway with young Urquhart your cause will be lost. You will have no chance when once you have left the Castle. You had better make haste.""Let us get Janet Urquhart out of the way first," said Fenella dryly. "She is the greatest obstacle of all."CHAPTER XIVTHE DEPARTURE OF JANETPERHAPS it was in consequence of Fenella's "vision," that Janet now became restless and uneasy, and began to think of a speedy return to her home. "You don't want me now, Walter," she said to her brother, "and the children do; I think I had better go to them.""It is all because of what Fenella said. You believe every word of it. Why, whom could Patricia have been walking with in the lane? There is nobody for her to walk with.""I suppose not," said Janet, rather faintly. She did not like the idea of speaking to Walter about the organist."Then why concern yourself about it? It is always the way with women," said Walter, in a quaintly superior tone;" they run from one extreme to the other. First of all you would have nothing to do with spiritualism and declared it to be wicked nonsense; now you are acting as if everything a person said in a trance were gospel-truth.""I don't think that, exactly. There are plenty of reasons why I ought to go home, Walter. I have been here three weeks, and I don't know how anything is going on. Patricia never mentions the garden.""Never mind the garden. You think a great deal too much of those little concerns of yours down there, Janet. You must remember that I am only waiting for Lady Mary and Nigel to fix a date for their departure—though I would not hurry them for the world—before I tell you all to pack up and come down here. This is your home now, you know.""Walter dear, it is very kind of you to say so, but you know we do not want to be a burden on you.""As if a man's own brothers and sisters could be a burden on him! That is ridiculous. Do you suppose, after living with you and the others all my life, that I want to settle down here in solitary grandeur? Why half the fun of the thing will be having the children here. What a high old time they will have!""But about schools, Walter! There is no good high school or grammar school here which the boys could attend.""I mean them to go to Rugby. And you'd better look out for a good school for Annabel and, perhaps, Dora—though Dora's young; but everyone says that Annabel needs to go to school. We shall have jolly times in the vac., when Guy and all of them can come down; and at other times there will be you and Patricia to do the honours of the house and make things nice and comfortable for me.""And—what about Aunt Sally?""I suppose she must come too, unless—what do you think?—would she care to have an income and live at the Stone House, so that we might keep the place in reserve in case we wanted it at any time?""In case you married, Walter?" said Janet, with a smile and a sigh."Oh, I did not mean that. If I married you would stay on here all the same.""I am not so sure about that. If you marry Fenella, I don't think, Walter, that I could remain.""That's very unkind of you, Janet.""It would be the best and kindest thing in the end. We should never agree, and you would not be comfortable. Have you—have you—asked her yet?""Not in so many words, but I am sure that she understands. She is so quick—she seems to have more faculties than we have—a sort of sixth sense, which enables her almost to see into a fellow's mind.""I don't think I should like that.""Well, one has to be more particular what one feels and thinks like," said Walter. "But that's not such a bad thing, is it?""No. And do you think she will have you?""I don't see why she shouldn't. She always seems pleased to—to see me about," said Walter, with boyish awkwardness."And Lady Mary? What will she do without Fenella?""She'll find somebody else. You know I'm offering Lady Mary the Dower House, Janet; the old White House, with the terraced garden, just outside the Park gates. Do you think she'd like it?""I should think so. And what about Mr. Erskine?""Oh, he's in luck's way. A friend of his has a lot of land here—it marches with the Corballis estate—and wants someone to live there and superintend; and it is practically so near that Nigel can easily live at the Dower House with his mother and still do his work.""That will be a very nice arrangement. I'm so glad you've been good to them, Walter.""They've been good to me, too, I can tell you. Don't you like Lady Mary?""Yes, indeed. I could love her if she would let me; but I fancy she keeps me at a distance.""She's afraid of you; she thinks you a strong minded woman because you sell vegetables," laughed Walter, whereat Janet's eyes flashed at him angrily, especially when he added: "Mind, you are not to sell vegetables any more.""Did you tell her? Why do you tell such things? It is stupid of you, Walter. Perhaps she will never like me again, and I admire her so much."There were actually tears in Janet's eyes."Never mind," said Walter, "I was a fool to mention it; but I'm sure she sees for herself now that she need not have had any fear of you. Do you think you really must go, Janet?""I think I must. I am so anxious about the children——""—And about Fenella's clairvoyance!""No, no, I don't believe in that one bit," said Janet, but she did not speak quite the truth.She hastened her departure after this conversation, and she fancied that she surprised a look of triumph in Fenella's greenish-hazel eyes.But Janet could not go without a word of explanation to Lady Mary. She found her one afternoon alone in the drawing-room, and she told her of her desire to get back to the other members of her family, who had nobody to look after them."Walter told me how good you were to them, my dear," said Lady Mary graciously."Walter told you some other things, I am afraid," said Janet, colouring vividly. "Perhaps it seemed strange to you that we should send things out of our garden to the market; but there was so much more than we ourselves could use, and we had so little money.""I am sure, my dear child, that you had a very good mother," said Lady Mary kindly."I did it for the best. Walter says I am not to do it again; he will look after us.""Walter is quite right. You will live here, I hope, my dear, and exercise your natural talents for the good of the household and the tenantry—until the day when Walter takes to himself a wife.""He is young yet.""Yes, he may not marry for eight or ten years. Look at my Nigel. His fancy has never been touched. I used to grieve over it, thinking that it was time he married; but now I am glad. It is a good thing that he is single, as matters have turned out.""Dear Lady Mary, I so often wish they could have turned out differently.""Don't say that, my dear. This is the appointed way, and we are told to walk in it. I trust that we shall all do our duty and be happy. It was a blow at first—that I will not deny; but one can grow accustomed in time to any outward change of life—it is the inward changes that break one's heart: the loss of love, the loss of companionship, the discovery of uncouthness in those you love. These are the things that really hurt; not the mere change of worldly circumstance."Janet appreciated the little sermon, and hoped that Lady Mary had really laid it to heart. On the following day she said good-bye to the Castle and its inhabitants, and went southward once again. She took leave of Walter in his own room, and of Lady Mary in hers, as she had to breakfast early. On the previous evening she had taken leave of the Professor and of Fenella. The two girls had never reached the kissing stage; they barely touched each other's hands as they said good-bye."I hope I haven't driven you away," said Fenella carelessly."You? How could you?""I thought my remarks about your sister had had something to do with your going. Well, I am glad to find I am not responsible. Good-bye, Miss Urquhart. I hope you will keep well this autumn, but I think you will find it a rather sickly season.""Good-bye, Miss Rosedale," said Janet formally, without stopping to enquire what Fenella meant. But the enigmatic remark occurred to her mind rather frequently in the days that were to come.She found everything in very good trim at the Stone House, and everyone was glad to see her. She very much wanted to question Patricia about the organist, but she did not dare. Some casual reference to the church service was made, however, and then Annabel vouchsafed a piece of information."Mr. St. Just has gone," she said."Gone?""Oh yes, he went a fortnight ago. They have a scrubby little man from High Waltham to play the organ now.""Is Mr. St. Just not coming back again?""No," said Patricia, intervening suddenly. "He has gone—for good, as people say, and I am glad. I think he was a presuming sort of young man, and very conceited."Janet drew a breath of relief. She was delighted to hear her sister say so.Later on, in the seclusion of Janet's own room, she told her a little about the séance and of what Fenella professed to have seen in her trance."She saw you, she said, Patricia; and you were walking in a lane—at night—with a man.""Never did such a thing in my life," said Patricia, laughing. Then she stopped and seemed to consider. "What evening was that?"Janet gave her the date."That is the choir-practice night, Janet. I certainly walked home through the lanes, but it was with—Mr. Marston. He must have been the man who figured in Miss Rosedale's trance. But what an odd little person she must be!""I dare say that a great many startling things which people say they dream or see in trances would be quite as commonplace if properly explained," said Janet, rather drowsily.Patricia was struck by her tone. "Are you very tired, Janet?""Frightfully tired. I think I'll go to bed now, Pat. I fancy I have taken a chill."She was certainly not well when she woke next morning. She had cold chills and hot feverish intervals, and when the doctor came he said he thought that she was in for a sharp attack of influenza. And then Janet's mind reverted to Fenella's little speech about her health."I think that girl must have the Evil Eye," she said. "It seems as though she had 'ill-wished' me, as the country people say. I wonder—how she knew—that I was going to have 'a sickly season.'"Possibly Fenella had read some sign of approaching illness in Janet's face. She was an adept at giving some sort of mysterious meaning to the most ordinary events of every-day life. It was quite possible that she had guessed at a chill or cold of some kind and had wanted to frighten Janet with an exhibition of her occult knowledge of the future. But Janet soon forgot to think of the prophesy, for she was ill enough to be oblivious of the past, and it seemed as if she did not care for the future. She had seldom known such an illness, and but for Patricia's careful nursing the doctor said that she might never have pulled through. Her weakness and her depression were intense and quite unusual with her; and, as she said afterwards, she never had such a miserable time in all her life.CHAPTER XVA GOOD PUPIL"AND now you will have to make the best of your time."It was the Professor who spoke. He was standing by a table in his laboratory two days after Janet's departure, and a great autumnal storm was raging outside the widnows and beating down upon the vaulted roof. The Professor was dressed in a long loose robe of dark material which made him look something like a Franciscan monk; but there was no self-suppression, no spirit of monkish submission, in the hungry light of his keen eyes.Fenella was sitting at the same table, turning over the pages of a book. She looked pale and tired, and supported her head with one hand as though it ached. She did not look up when the Professor spoke to her, but answered with her eyes still fixed upon the book."In what way?" she said."Do you need me to tell you?""Fenella lifted her head. "Oh, how I loathe you sometimes!" she said. "How I loathe you when you talk like that!""Your nerves are getting out of control, my child," said the Professor calmly. "Look at me for a moment."But Fenella's head went down upon her book. "No, I will not look at you," she said. "I have borne this burden long enough. What have I done that you should make me your slave? Why did you choose me out of all the millions of people in the world to do your bidding?""Fenella, you are a little fool," said the Professor. He drew another chair up to the table and sat down beside her. "Let me talk to you, a little," he said, his voice modulating itself from its usually harsh tone to one of music and beauty—a change which showed that it was harsh only from carelessness and caprice and not from want of natural sweetness. "You forget that you are singularly favoured. You have been privileged to learn many things which less gifted souls than you can never aspire to reach. When I came here first you were a mere child; but I soon saw within you a wonderful capacity for the occult. The Oriental blood in your veins rendered you susceptible to every touch from the Unseen. You should rejoice that you are so singularly gifted, so capable of seeing what the ordinary Western mind holds to be a dream."Fenella moved a little; her attitude became more expressive of attention, and the Professor smiled to himself."Think how much I have taught you," he said, bending down and speaking with his mouth very near her ear. You understand some of the highest mysteries of the occult world; you can communicate with the higher intelligences on another plane; you can perform what the world would call miracles if it saw them; and you ask me why I have laid such a burden upon you? It is the burden of knowledge—the burden of wisdom—and those who bear it are honoured indeed.""But you use your own knowledge and mind for mean ends," said Fenella. "You want wealth—wealth! money! If you had the Eastern strain in you, you would live on a crust, wear one single garment, and sleep under the open sky.""In England? In Scotland? One's life would end soon, belike," said the Professor dryly. "No, such things cannot be done in a land of frost and snow. And even for yourself you covet strings of pearls and diamond necklaces, and great uncut emeralds and sapphires; you might live on a crust, but you would sell your soul for a precious stone.""I can see a precious stone," said Fenella, in a curiously stolid tone. "I can weigh it and feel it, but I cannot see or weigh a soul.""You are wise; the emerald or the sapphire has the greater value in this world," said the Professor coolly. "And where are these things to come from if you and I do not put our wits together and contrive some way of obtaining them'? Your craze is for jewels; but I want other things.""Yes, before this discovery about Walter Urquhart we thought there would be no difficulty," said Fenella, arching her hands over her eyes but lifting her head. "If we had done as we said—if you had willed Lady Mary into leaving all her money to me, and if I had married Nigel—then it would have been all right.""Yes, it seemed easy enough when we planned it. The difficulties have arisen since then.""And they all fall upon me. You expect me to gain money for you as well as for myself. But Lady Mary will have very little to leave. And Nigel—Nigel——''"Nigel is out of the question," said the Professor."Then why did you ever let me think of loving him? How can I take back my heart when I have given it; Nigel is a man; I love him; I adore him. The yellow-haired boy with the blue eyes is a baby; you cannot expect me to care for him.""What is all this nonsense about loving and caring for a man?" asked Dr. Chilworth coldly. " I never heard you give way to such sentimentalism before.""It is not sentimentalism; it is the voice of my heart.""Your heart! It is as non-existent as your soul. You are dreaming, Fenella. And you must not dream. We have no time for dreams in this world of action, in a world where poverty can be so cruel, where the pangs of hunger can be so terrible. I have felt them, and I know. I do not mean to feel them again. Sooner than that I would murder a man for his purse and buy myself a loaf of bread. Why should I die? Why should he live because he has more gold than I? I do not mean to know poverty again.""But there is no reason why I should be the person to win you wealth," said Fenella, half rising as though she wished to move away."Sit down," he said sternly. "You cannot go until we have come to some conclusion on this matter. You are bound to obey me because you are my pupil, my scholar; the one living person to whom I have taught almost everything I know. You are bound to me by ties that cannot be dissolved. Do you not know that if you were at the other side of the world, and I called to you, you would be bound to come? Have I not often brought you here—sometimes at dead of night—to show you my power and to make you understand that you are—always and everywhere—in my hands? As long as I live you cannot get away from me, Fenella; and I have a strong suspicion that I shall follow you when I am dead. Now do you understand?""Yes. You have told me these things many times," she said sullenly."But the time has now come for you to act upon what I have said. I told you once that you must marry Nigel Erskine, and he was well enough disposed to you. Now that he has lost all his possessions you must turn away your thoughts from him and devote yourself to his successor—this Walter Urquhart, who is a fool. You will have no difficulty with him: he is head over ears in love with you already.""No," said Fenella with a sigh. "There will be no difficulty with him—only with myself, with my own heart.""Your heart! pooh!" said the Professor. "I do not want to hear anything about your heart. Now that you understand your position, Fenella, I say again——Look at me."She seemed reluctant, but finally she changed her position and looked straight into his eyes. He gazed silently for some minutes, then raised his hands and made some slow mesmeric passes in front of her eyes. Gradually the white eyelids fell; Fenella was asleep."Do you hear me, Fenella?""Yes, Professor.""Are you my faithful pupil and servant?""Yes.""And you promise to be so, to the end of your life?""I promise.""Shall I tell you then what I want you to do?""Yes.""You are to give up all thought of Nigel Erskine."This time there was no answer."Do you hear what I say? You must give up all thought of Nigel Erskine.""Yes.""And you must devote yourself to the idea of Walter Urquhart in his place. You must let him think that you love him—dearly. You must not leave him alone until he has asked you to marry him. And when he has asked you, you must induce him to let the marriage take place as soon as possible.""I understand.""That is enough for the present. I will give you further instructions afterwards."He made a few upward passes, and in a moment or two Fenella opened her eyes."Have I been to sleep?" she said, with a scared look at the Professor."Yes, for a few minutes. I hope you feel better now," he said, watching her keenly as she passed her hands once or twice over her forehead."Oh yes, I am all right now. I feel better. I had a sort of depression hanging about me, and I could not shake it off.""You have nothing to be depressed about," said the Professor cheerfully. "You are going to take Walter for a drive on the first fine day, are you not?""Yes, we were to have gone to-day, but it is so stormy. By-the-bye, he will be expecting me; it is almost time for tea. I shall have to say that you were very cross and disagreeable, and gave me a tremendously long Latin lesson.""You are going to have tea with him?""Yes, in the music-room. Nigel is out—Aunt Mary is in bed. You don't take tea, Professor. I must administer it to Walter all alone.""Would you like a love-philtre to pour into his cup?""I don't think it is necessary—in his case. I think I must let him speak; I am growing tired of silent devotion.""You will accept him, of course?""What else would you have me do?"She laughed as she spoke. Truly, as the Professor reflected, she was a good pupil—an ideal pupil; worthy of a teacher like himself.CHAPTER XVIVIRGINIAFENELLA was like a new creature as she went downstairs; the Professor's influence seemed to have breathed fresh life into her veins. A faint rose colour tinted her pale cheeks, her eyes glowed, her whole face expressed an unusual capacity for enjoyment. The Professor's hypnotic powers were of a high order, and he had intentionally impressed upon her mind that afternoon that she must cheerfully accept her fate, must win Walter to herself, and look forward to the future of wealth and happiness which lay before her. How this future was to be attained the Professor did not exactly state, but Fenella knew him well enough to be aware that he would let no scruples bar his way.When she entered the music-room, where Walter was awaiting her, he could hardly suppress a start of delighted surprise. She had put on a rose-red garment—she had a fancy for expressing her moods by the colour of her gowns,—and the colour was exceedingly becoming to her dark hair and the gleaming whiteness of her skin. Walter had seen her sometimes drooping and melancholy, or vague and shadowy like a creature of the night; but as he saw her now she was an incarnation of all that makes life worth living—of joy, hope, and confidence. But a certain restlessness, which also looked out of her strange green eyes, escaped his notice. It would probably have passed with him as an ebullition of high spirits. He was still something of an invalid, but he was able to move about a little in spite of his bandages. The tea-table had been brought into the music-room because it was on a level with Walter's own apartment, and he was spared the necessity of stairs, which were still troublesome to him. Fenella sent away the servants who were in waiting, and she herself poured out the tea, placing it on a little table close to the divan upon which Walter lay, and heaping his plate with sugared cakes and bonbons."I shall have to cry 'Hold, enough!'" said Walter at last. "I shall certainly not be able to eat all these cakes; I shall have no appetite left for dinner.""Never mind about dinner," said Fenella. "Dinner is a solid, prosaic meal; afternoon tea has more of the poetry of existence about it. See, here are some preserved rose-leaves, you cannot resist those; sugared violets, too.""Those are the only fit foods for you," said Walter. " 'Sweets to the sweet.'""That is a very hackneyed remark," smiled Fenella. "Besides, I am not sweet; didn't you know that?""I should never believe it," said Walter, " if you told me so a hundred times: I can judge for myself."She looked at him, still smiling, but there was a little hint of mockery in her eyes. "You are so clever at reading character, are you not?" she said. "Now do tell me what you think of mine.""Ah!—character," repeated Walter vaguely. "I don't know much about reading character; I only know that when I like people I seem to understand them. I understand you, you see, because——""Because you like me?" said Fenella, with an air of innocent witchery that almost bewildered Walter with its suddenness. "And what," she went on, turning her flower-like face to him, "what do you think of me?""Do you really want me to tell you?" said the infatuated Walter. "But, how can I express it? To me you are sunshine, and life, and light—everything that is most desirable and lovely. Oh, Fenella! "—his hand clasped hers, and although he choked and hesitated a little as he spoke her name, Fenella knew perfectly well that the fateful moment had arrived. She blushed and smiled a little, and looked down so that he might admire the length of her eyelashes, resting on her smooth cheek. But her pulse beat no faster than it had done before, and her breathing was as calm as that of a sleeping child. It was not Walter who had the art of rousing Fenella's emotions; she could drive him to frenzy, but she remained perfectly calm."Fenella,"—he began once more, but he did not get beyond the name, for at that moment the door was flung open, and, to Fenella's disgust, the butler ushered into the music-room two visitors whom he announced as:"Sir Peter Craven and Miss Virginia Craven."Fenella started up, flushing angrily. By whose authority had the butler brought visitors into the music-room, which was not considered to be a place of public reception? The visitors' first words, however, seemed to explain the situation."Oh, Fenella!" said Miss Craven, entering with outstretched hands. "It is too bad to hunt you out in the music-room where I know you don't receive visitors, but it is partly my fault and partly father's. He said that he wanted to make the acquaintance of Mr. Urquhart, and I said I wanted to see you; so we persuaded Giles to bring us up here. So you must not be angry with him.""And it is such a wretched day to be out," said Sir Peter, who was a tall, hale, white-whiskered old gentleman, with an erect military carriage, of which he was rather proud, and a very kindly face. He glanced across at Walter as he spoke, and Fenella introduced them, not with a very good grace. She was angry at an interruption to a scene which she had carefully planned. She could hardly command herself sufficiently to make civil conversation with Miss Craven, who was as unlike Fenella herself as a girl could possibly be.Virginia Craven was said to be not unlike one of Du Maurier's women. She was unusually tall, with rippling brown hair, beautiful starry eyes, and chiselled features. And she had a haughty bearing which was said by those who knew her well to be rather misleading, for she had a nature of great sweetness and amiability. Her figure was well developed; the shoulders were broad, and the waist not too small, but in its right place, and her long limbs had been well trained and disciplined, so that they were under as perfect a control as a soldier's. From her earliest years Virginia had been taught to run, to swim, to ride, to dance, and also, in later years, to fence: she had lived chiefly in the open air, and her health was superb. Nevertheless, she was not without intellectual interests, for she was well-read in English literature, and she had studied Greek with her brother's tutor. But, on the whole, her education had been more on a man's plan than on that of a woman, and although nobody called her masculine, yet her mind had a strength and freshness of its own which had nothing womanish about it. She sat and talked a little to Fenella, who gave her a cup of tea in a somewhat reluctant and sulky manner, and Miss Craven was quick to discern that she and her father had come at rather an unlucky moment—at least, at a moment when visitors had not been desired. "Well," she thought to herself, "they must "make the best of it." She could not hurry her father away; he had settled down to a conversation with this Mr. Walter Urquhart, who had presented himself to the county as rightful heir to the Corballis estate, and who was therefore likely to become a person of importance in the neighbourhood.Virginia had meant to see Lady Mary, of whom she was very fond, and to ask her if she would not pay them a long visit. But as Lady Mary was not well enough to see anyone that day, she had to content herself with Fenella.Walter was attracted by Miss Craven. Of course, he did not admire her as he admired Fenella, but he saw in her the sort of girl that he was sure Janet would like—strong, capable, sane and healthy. He would have liked to exchange a few words with her, just to see whether she came up to the ideal that he had formed of her, had not Fenella engrossed her visitor's attention so exclusively. The fact was that Fenella was almost afraid to let Walter speak to another woman. She had made up her mind to marry him, and, for that purpose, he must be isolated; he could not be allowed to run the chance of catching the plague of love from any casual visitor. But she overreached herself a little, for Sir Peter, with whom she was rather a favourite, suddenly burst out laughing and declared that she was not speaking a word to him, and that she must come and talk to him for a few minutes while Virginia did her best to amuse Mr. Urquhart. "And I don't think he is difficult to amuse," he said, with a roar of laughter; though why he should make such a statement there is no evidence to say.But Virginia seated herself by Walter's couch, and began to condole with him on the accident that had rendered him so long an invalid. Walter was a little inclined to be ashamed of it, since it had proceeded from his bad driving; but Virginia told him what she had heard Nigel and others say about Black Nell, and tried hard to convince him that it was not his fault that the poor mare had bolted and imperilled two lives, as well as sacrificed her own."I hope you'll go on driving," she said, solicitously. "Sometimes people lose their nerve after an accident like that. You will both ride and drive, will you not, Mr. Urquhart?""I hope so. I don't feel as if my nerves were affected yet," he said, with a smile. "But I think I shall go out with Nigel sometimes and see how he manages his animals. I never had much chance, you know, of learning to ride or drive. It must seem strange to you.""In a sense it seems rather strange, because we are all so used to an out-of-door life in this part of the world. I think everyone rides here—except Miss Rosedale, perhaps. She is not such an out-of-door person as I am, I believe."She smiled quite good-naturedly as she spoke, and there was not the least necessity for Walter to answer as if he were required to defend Fenella."She reads so much," he said. "She studies a great deal.""Yes, I know she does, "Miss Craven returned, slightly lowering her voice." She is interested in the occult sciences, isn't she?""I believe so. Are you interested in them, too?""I? No, not in the least." Virginia gave an involuntary little shudder. "They always make me feel cold when I think of them. I don't like to meddle with the unseen.""I quite agree with you," said Walter. "I have a great dislike to meddling, as you say, with what we are not intended to know.""That is what I think," said Virginia, rather eagerly. "We are not meant to peep and pry into the future, or establish an unnatural kind of mastery over another person's mind, are we? I have often wondered whether you meant to encourage Professor Chilworth in his experiments. The people round here say that he can raise the devil.""I should not wonder if he could," said Walter, rather grimly.He felt Fenella's hungry eyes upon him. He wondered whether she divined what he was saying; he knew that it would be treason to her ears. But there was something candid and direct in Virginia's beautiful eyes which impelled him to speak the truth."He is not going to live in the house any longer," he said, in a low voice, "although he is to use the laboratory that was fitted up for him. But he will take lodgings, I believe, in the village.""And he will not go the Dower House as Lady Mary's doctor?""Not as a resident, certainly.""Oh, I am so glad you have brought that about, Mr. Urquhart," said Virginia warmly. "Lady Mary's friends have not been at all happy about her. She seemed to believe in the Professor so absolutely; and we all think he is a quack. And Fenella is quite under his thumb. Perhaps I ought not to speak so freely; but you are not like a stranger, and all the neighbourhood has been agitated by the accounts of Professor Chilworth's extraordinary assumption of authority. I know Nigel does not see it; he has such unbounded faith in his mother that everything that she does seems right to him. And we are all so fond of her.""Yes, she is very sweet," Walter answered; and he wondered why the girl did not also find some word of praise for Fenella, who had evidently been very much discussed in the neighbourhood, and whose pretty face did not seem to exempt her from criticism.Possibly the way that he glanced at her caught Virginia's eye; her intuitions seemed to be very quick. She said almost at once,"I think her so wonderfully beautiful! I may say so to you, may I not? For she is not a relation of yours?""No, not of mine. She is very uncommon-looking.""Well, good people, and what are you talking about?" said Sir Peter, in his breezy way. " Let us hear all about it. Fenella and I have had our little wrangle—we always have one whenever we meet, Mr. Urquhart, and then we are friends again.""And what was it about to-day?" said Virginia.She smiled at Fenella, although she noticed that the expression of Fenella's face was not particularly pleasant; and she was not altogether surprised when she found that Sir Peter had blundered upon the very subject which she would have recommended him to avoid."Doctors!" said the old gentleman, shaking his head. "Oh, they're a mixed lot—a very, mixed lot. But I wanted to tell you that there is a new one out Galbraith way; the Marquis recommends him very highly. We thought that perhaps you would like to know of one who was well thought of in the neighbourhood."Walter thanked Sir Peter, although he saw the gathering thunder-clouds in Fenella's face; and then he asked the doctor's name."Munsey, isn't it, Virginia? A first-rate man, they say. The Marquis swears by him.""The Marquis?" said Walter, with an interrogation in his voice. He had not been long enough in the neighbourhood to be acquainted with the names of all the local magnates."The Marquis of Oranmore. Haven't you seen him yet? Why, it's he who is Nigel's great friend, and has made him factor on his estate—a very responsible position, let me tell you, for a young man like Nigel Erskine. Not but what I believe him quite capable of filling the post, and I think Oranmore has made a wise choice. Well, don't forget Dr. Munsey, Mr. Urquhart; I can't bring my tongue to call you Master yet, as you ought to be called; but I shall get used to it in time. Now Virginia, my dear!"She was already waiting for him, and they all said good-bye with great cordiality and friendliness. Walter was deceived into thinking that Fenella liked the visitors, after all; and he began to praise them, but was amazed when she broke out angrily:"I hate them! I hate them both: that stupid, coarse Virginia, always riding or fishing or doing something horribly athletic; and that horrid, dense, dull-witted old man! I hate them both."Walter was unwise enough to protest. "My dear Fenella, you surely cannot hate Miss Craven. She struck me as one of the nicest girls I had ever met.""Of course—you would be sure to like her: she is so different from me. I hate these sporting women. I like a woman to be womanly. I think it would be nicer if we were shut up—never allowed to go out into the world at all.""I don't believe you would like that," said Walter, unable to resist a laugh."I should like it very much; and I should like it for other people better than I should for myself," said Fenella venomously. "I should like to see Virginia Craven locked up in a prison or a convent, so that she couldn't get out again.""I wonder why Miss Craven has annoyed you.""She has not annoyed me. I dislike her, that is all. That is not being annoyed. It is a very different thing.""A worse thing," said Walter dispassionately; whereupon Fenella burst into tears and rushed out of the room, refusing to be comforted. Walter felt vexed at her unreasonable anger; and the charm of her beauty was for the time slightly weakened. He had never been accustomed to thoroughly unreasonable women.CHAPTER XVIITHE PROFESSOR'S INVENTIONSA TIME had come when Nigel felt it incumbent upon him to take his departure from Corballis Castle. Not that he felt he was unwelcome, for Walter was only too anxious to keep him, and the whole family, as long as possible. But there seemed no special reason why the removal should be delayed, and Lady Mary herself decided that she would rather "settle in" before the autumn was well advanced than wait until wind and storm made a change of residence appear a dreary thing. After much hesitation she had accepted Walter's offer of the Dower House, and she was quite touched, when she reached the place, to find that Walter had sent down whatever he thought she was most likely to value in the way of furniture, pictures, and ornaments. In fact, she acknowledged gratefully that she felt at once quite at home in her new house, and that the new Laird had been both delicate and discriminating in his attentions. Nigel was to live with his mother, and Fenella would continue to be her companion; but there was no room for the Professor at the Dower House, and Walter did not approve of the suggestion, conveyed through Fenella, that he should continue to live at the Castle. One concession, indeed, Walter made: the Professor might continue the use of the laboratory, which had been expressly fitted up for him and would be absolutely useless to anybody else; but the new Master of Corballis thought it better that the Doctor should seek a residence elsewhere.Naturally, the Professor was not pleased at this decision, and Fenella ventured to complain a little on his account."The poor Professor!" she said. "It does seem hard on him! When Aunt Mary and Nigel brought him right away from Edinburgh, in order to fill the post of private physician down here, it seems a little unkind to cast him adrift, don't you think?""But we won't cast him adrift," returned Walter cheerfully. "If he will condescend to prescribe for the household, and be present at the Cottage Hospital once or twice a week, I have offered him three hundred a year. And considering that we seem to be a very healthy community, I think that is quite enough; and he will still have the use of the laboratory for his private work.""It was so convenient for him," said Fenella, "to have his bedroom close by, for sometimes, you see, he sits up in the night, making his experiments.""I think that, on the whole, I would sooner he did not do that," said Walter. "There will be children in the house, and I don't want them to be disturbed. There is always a little risk of explosions, and accidents of different kinds when experiments are going on. I think the Professor had better keep to daylight."Fenella pouted, and showed that she was displeased, but Walter was not to be turned from his purpose. He disliked the Professor, and did not want his companionship at every meal. Moreover, it had occurred to him lately that Dr. Chilworth's influence over Fenella was excessive, and that he should not like to see Patricia or Annabel subjugated in the same way.Walter's mind was not of the complex order, and did not easily grasp the complexities of others. He was considerably puzzled by Fenella's attitude towards him during the next few days. Evidently he had offended her, and he supposed that this was on account of his refusal to keep the Professor entirely in the house. But on this point he was firm, and he knew that Janet would agree with him. In fact, he did not think it possible that Janet and the Professor could live peaceably under the same roof, and he even wondered whether she would be very indignant when she heard that he had allowed the Professor to retain his laboratory in the house. She had a strong—almost a superstitious—dislike to his experiments, especially in the way of hypnotism, and she was a little disposed to think that he was in league with the Powers of the air. No, it would never do to have the Professor as an inmate, together with Janet, and the rest of Walter's sisters and brothers.But towards the end of the time occupied by Lady Mary's removal Fenella's manner altered a little. It grew softer and more melancholy, and she looked at Walter sometimes with such pleading in her eyes that he felt that he could never refuse her anything. But, curiously enough, the words which had been almost on his lips on the day when Miss Craven and her father had called did not seem to rise again so spontaneously. Possibly Fenella was waiting for them, possibly that was why she looked so plaintive and distressed. And Walter himself did not know what made him hesitate; something light as a veil, yet chilling as a sea mist, seemed to have crept between him and Fenella, and he had not the courage to thrust it aside. A word, perhaps, was all that was needed; but the Word did not come. It was almost as though the suggestion of moorland air, of wild wind, and fresh driving rain which had entered with Virginia Craven had had some refrigerating effect upon his intercourse with Fenella. One side of his nature luxuriated in Fenella's fondness for the things of the senses—colour, and perfume, and sweet music: the other side of him craved for a bolder and freer life—a life of the woods and fields, a life of nature, and not of the preternatural.Meanwhile, Fenella had sought the Professor in his laboratory, and had made her plaint to him."It's no use," she said. "I am losing even the little power I had. Can you do nothing?""He is a difficult subject," said the Professor, bending his brows. "He does not seem susceptible to hypnotic treatment. I have seldom met with anybody who was less so.""Is there no other way?" said Fenella, her green eyes flaming. "Is there no truth at all in the old stories? You have recipes enough for charms and philtres; could you not give me something that would make him speak? Because he still looks—looks—as though he would like to speak, but something stands in the way.""Any woman?" said the Professor."I don't think so. Who could there be?"Then her eyes glowed again with that strange inward light. "He has changed," she said, in a low hissing tone, "since that girl came to the house—that girl Virginia.""What, Miss Craven?" said the Professor quickly."Yes, she came just when I think he was about to speak. I felt it like a cutting wind; it seemed to divide us.""Certainly an adverse influence," said the Professor. But that will wear off. You must do your best to attract him. Dance, play to him, do what you can to make him wish that you belonged to him.""There are only two more days," said Fenella. "When we are once out of the house I shall have much less chance. There will be no room to dance at the Dower House, and Nigel will not have time to sit and play accompaniments. If anything is to be done it should be done now.""Let me reflect a little," said the Professor, with his finger on his lip. He stood frowning, with his eyes on the glowing embers, which the autumnal weather had made necessary, and at last he said, rather enigmatically, "you are prepared to go all lengths?""I suppose so," said Fenella, her face hardening itself a little."I mean you will do your utmost to attract him. You will even go beyond the ordinary limits of what is considered permissible if you see that you can gain anything by it. Remember that Walter Urquhart has been brought up in respectable middle-class society. You can see that he knows as little of the world as a child. To him a kiss—an embrace—would be as binding as a promise of marriage, still more so if he thought that you were consumed with a hopeless love for him.""One thing is as easy as another," said Fenella, shrugging her shoulders. "The thing is what to do, and how to bring it about.""To some extent," said the Professor smoothly, "you must leave that to me. But if I were you, to-night, Fenella, I would wear those charming Oriental robes of yours and dance for him as you did the other day. Only, not in the drawing-room—here in the laboratory.""Here?" said Fenella, glancing round her. "But there is no room.""I will make room. I can push these tables back, you see, and that will leave space enough. I have the coloured lights and the perfumes that add so much to the beauty of that dance when they are properly employed. If you will do your part I will see that the mise-en-scène is properly arranged."He went on to speak of various accessories to her costume, and the means to be employed in bringing Walter up to the laboratory that evening. Lady Mary always retired to rest about nine o'clock when her son was away from home; and Nigel was absent for a day or two on business connected with the new work on which he had just embarked. There was nobody to interfere with Fenella, or with the Professor: least of all what went on in the laboratory.Fenella's manner to Walter that day was particularly soft and gentle. Once or twice he observed her eyes filled with tears, and he knew that she was thinking of her approaching departure from the house. At such moments he longed, quite vehemently, to ask her to stay as its mistress. Then some little touch of doubt, some feeling of coldness, intervened. It was almost as though an invisible hand were laid upon him, holding him back from the declaration of love which he yet longed to make. It was between tea and dinner time that she came to him with a request, which she made so timidly and sweetly that he felt that he would be indeed a brute to refuse."Walter," she said—for they all called him Walter now—"the Professor wants us to see some new coloured lights which he has discovered, or invented, and he says he will be so pleased if we would go to the laboratory this evening between nine and ten o'clock, for a little while, after Aunt Mary has gone to bed, and see what he has got to show us. It is no good going by daylight, he says, for the effect would all be lost. Will you come?""Certainly," said Walter. "I shall be delighted. But what a pity Lady Mary cannot see them too! Could we not manage to wheel her into the room?""She is always afraid of these new inventions, especially if they have anything to do with lights and fireworks," said Fenella, innocently. "Of course, I cannot tell what it is, but I think the Professor would much rather we did not mention it to her.""Very well. But you are sure she would not mind you coming?""Oh, no. Not if I am with you," said Fenella. And she smiled up at him sweetly.Walter had no thought of doing anything that Lady Mary would not approve. He thought Fenella was the best judge of what she might do, and what she might not, and therefore he made no objection to her arrangements, although the thought did cross his mind that Janet would be decidedly shocked if Patricia made appointments to see new inventions without informing her lawful guardians of the fact. However, he supposed that as the Professor was resident in the house he came under the head of "one of the family," and was, of course, perfectly to be trusted. He would have been horrified if he had known how much time Fenella spent in that laboratory alone with Professor Chilworth.When Lady Mary had gone to bed, therefore, the two young people climbed the steep staircase which led to the Professor's room, and found him evidently awaiting their arrival. Walter laughed a little as he looked in. "The Professor would make an excellent stage-manager," he remarked. " The room is decidedly well arranged. The flickering lights and shadows make it look twice as large as it really is."There were no lights in the room, and the fire on the hearth had been extinguished, but in its place there was a brasier full of glowing charcoal, supported on an iron tripod, near the middle of the room. Upon this charcoal, as the visitors entered, the Professor threw a few grains of an aromatic substance, something like incense, and a faint fragrant odour soon penetrated the atmosphere, while a light white smoke rose up to the vaulted roof in light spiral clouds, which added to the mystery and vagueness which seemed to pervade the apartment. The Professor looked as if he had dressed for his part. He wore a loose black robe and a black cap, but his manner had not altered in the least. He came up to Walter, and welcomed him to his laboratory in a more than usually genial and amiable manner."You have come to see my little inventions," he said. "I told Miss Fenella I should like to show them to her and to you before she went to the other house. You will see that I have some curious effects of light and shade to show you.""I am going to help the Professor," said Fenella, in a soft voice. "Excuse me for a minute or two while I get ready. I have to make a little change in my dress.""Mr. Urquhart will stay here until you return, and drink a glass of wine with me," said the Professor, almost jovially. "I have some wonderful liquor here which perhaps you have never tasted: Imperial Tokay. The little bottles you see are cobwebbed still. You must drink a glass with me before I show you my little discoveries."Walter did not care for wine, and was inclined to refuse; but the Professor seemed so hurt when he declined the invitation that he was obliged to accept a glass. It was certainly wine fit for a king, and as it did not seem to be very strong, he accepted a second glass, though it seemed to him that the second was not quite so good as the first, and that it had a slightly different taste. It occurred to him afterwards, however, that he had been mistaken in his estimate of its strength. It was certainly strong enough to diffuse a genial glow through his frame, and to give him an unusual sense of stimulation and excitement. In a few moments his thoughts were pleasantly confused, but he still did not think that there was anything abnormal in his condition, as he knew that wine produced an effect very quickly upon him. "But it must have been stronger than I thought," he said to himself. No longer feeling inclined to talk, he lay back on a comfortable sofa and watched the preparations the Professor was making for his exhibition. By the addition of certain chemical substances to the charcoal, it produced the most lovely particoloured flames—some of violet and blue, some of rose colour fading into amber, and changing to green and violet. The effect was extremely beautiful, and Walter wondered why Fenella was not there to witness it. But it was not until one crimson ray fell from the brasier, and seemed to fill the room with a blazing light, that he saw Fenella, in the shadow of the room. To his surprise she wore the Indian dress in which he had seen her dance, but in this ever-changing light and colour she looked far lovelier than she had done amid the prosaic surroundings of the drawing-room. She stepped forward into the circle of light which the Professor seemed to have contrived for her, and there she began to dance, while with infinite judgment the Professor let his lights glow, and change, and fade, as if in harmony with her movements and with the feelings which she desired to raise. Seen by the light of these leaping flames Fenella looked scarcely human, and to Walter, in his mood of exaltation, she seemed more beautiful than any human being in the world.CHAPTER XVIIICIRCETHE coloured flames leaped and darted, casting strange reflections into the corners of the room and throwing variegated lights on the figure of the dancer as she turned and twisted in her rose-coloured scarf in front of the glowing brasier. In the background the Professor stood like an old necromancer with a wand in his hand, which he moved in unison with Fenella's graceful movements, as if keeping a rhythm of the dance. Then, as her movements grew slower and more languid, he threw fresh incense—or something like incense—upon the glowing charcoal, and a stream of thick white vapour instantly rose and seemed to envelop the room in a great white mist.Gradually the mist turned to rose colour, and then, parting, it disclosed to Walter and to Fenella, who had sunk panting on the floor, two or three shadowy moving figures—probably projected on a nearly invisible screen, but made to look so lifelike that Walter almost started to his feet at the sight of them. It seemed as if he saw a lovely garden with terraces and long flights of marble steps leading away into unimagined distances. The balustrades were overgrown with roses, and here and there the pointed shape of a dark cyprus recalled a memory of northern Italy; but where the scene was situated or how produced Walter did not care. His eyes were fixed upon the figures of a youth and a maiden who held each other's hands as they walked along the terrace; then, turning their faces to one another, they flung themselves into each other's arms and kissed each other on the lips.It was a pretty and suggestive scene, and as it flashed into light, or died again into the darkness, it seemed to Walter, half overpowered as he was by the fumes with which the apartment was filled, and by the intoxicating drug which he had swallowed, that it was he and Fenella who walked upon the terrace holding each other's hands—and truly Fenella's hands were clasped, in his own, and she was kneeling at his feet in an attitude of beseeching helplessness. Then suddenly she sprang to her feet, and, bewildered as he was, he yet knew that it was her arms that were clasped fast found his neck, and her lips that were pressed to his. Yet in such a moment, with his senses inflamed and his judgment deadened by the circumstances in which he found himself, he had no reluctance in returning her kisses and in clasping her closely to his breast. It was a moment of madness, such as a few weeks before he would have given his life to achieve, but which now came upon him unawares, and was robbed of half its sweetness by a certain dulness of his faculties and a little touch of bitterness in the depths of his soul.Suddenly the coloured lights disappeared, the white mist cleared away, and the room was filled with the prosaic and ordinary light of two electric lamps. The Professor had turned on the light, and in some way dissipated the fumes of coloured smoke, so that except for a little dimness in the atmosphere, the room looked very much as it always looked, and Fenella's dress was absolutely garish in the white staring light.Walter would willingly have started away from Fenella when this blaze of radiance came down upon them; but Fenella knew better than to allow that. She clung to him, still holding his face down to hers, raising herself on tiptoe a little so as to be nearer to his mouth."Darling," she whispered, "only say that you love me. But I know—I know—you do!"For a moment Walter gasped, feeling like a man who has been seized in deep water by the long tentacles of some enormous cuttlefish, which, if he cannot free himself from it, will drag him down into the depths of the sea. It was only a fancy, of course, for pretty Fenella's little delicate arms could not have held him for a moment had he wanted to break loose; but there was perhaps almost as much tenacity in their gentle touch as in the suckers of the octopus; and even while he hesitated, the moment was past.The Professor came forward smiling broadly with extended hand."My dear Mr. Urquhart," he said unctuously, "allow me to congratulate you. I see that you have won the heart of our charming Miss Fenella; and oh, what a comfort it is to think that she will be reinstated in the position which we thought that she had lost! Fenella, my best of pupils, I congratulate you also with all my heart."Again Walter gasped a little, knowing that if he were to make any protest it must be uttered at once or not at all. And yet what protest could he make? He honestly believed himself to be in love with Fenella, and although he had not intended to make a proposal of marriage to her that night, yet something—he hardly knew what—the wine, the odours, the girl's exquisite dancing, and the phantom figures of the youth and maiden as they met in the picture garden and embraced—all this had brought matters to a point. It was impossible for him to draw back now and say that he meant nothing, that he was only yielding to a momentary impulse of the senses, that he was not in love with Fenella; and, indeed, it would not be true. He could not remember any girl who had thrilled him as Fenella did. Surely that was saying that he was deeply and intensely in love with her? After that moment's hesitation, therefore, he braced himself to do what was expected of him."I thank you for your congratulations, Professor," he said, rather stiffly, "and I must confess that I had for the moment forgotten that you were present; but if Fenella will forgive my forgetful-ness, I shall not regret it.""Dearest," murmured Fenella, with her head half hidden on Walter's shoulder, "no forgiveness of any sort is wanted. How pleased Aunt Mary will be!""Speaking as an old friend of the family," said the Professor, "I can but say that this alliance is one which is calculated to give the greatest satisfaction to everybody concerned. Mr. Erskine will be home to-morrow, I expect, and he will no doubt welcome the news of your betrothal with the greatest satisfaction in the world."Half unconsciously to herself Fenella's arms slipped down from Walter's neck, and her head moved a little away from his breast."Why need we tell Nigel?" she asked, rather petulantly. "Why not keep it a secret a little while?""No, no, no," said the Professor soothingly, "that would never do, my dear Miss Fenella, especially since the happy crisis has occurred in my room. I could not be a party to anything underhand or clandestine. In point of fact, if you and Mr. Urquhart do not make your engagement known to-morrow or next day, I myself must impart the knowledge of it to Lady Mary Erskine and to her son.""I think we shall have no need of your intervention," said Walter haughtily—he had nearly said ''interference." "Miss Rosedale and I are quite capable of managing our own affairs as they ought to be managed, and I think, dearest," he said tenderly, still holding Fenella close to him, "that after all this excitement it would perhaps be better for you to go to your room. I shall see you in the morning, and together we can explain everything to Lady Mary."He stooped and kissed her—this time on the forehead—then, supporting her to the door, he set it wide open and accompanied her to the head of the staircase which she had to descend. She had brought a large cloak with her which was lying on the settee in the corridor. He put it closely round her, kissed her again, and watched while she went downstairs. Then he turned back to the door of the laboratory, where he found Professor Chilworth watching him with a sly and rather malicious grin upon his face. There was an air of evil triumph about him which Walter resented very much."It may be as well to mention, Professor Chilworth," Walter said dryly, "that I should prefer you to discontinue your kind interest in Miss Rosedale after to-night. Your influence over her has lately been growing greatly, and I wish it to be thoroughly understood that I do not countenance any more hypnotic experiments nor mesmeric exhibitions of any sort.""My dear Mr. Urquhart," said the Professor, in an easy tone, "you need not be under any apprehension; I never interfere with married persons, or even persons who are engaged to each other. Besides, as a matter of fact, there would be very little object in my continuing to make experiments with Fenella; she can make them with me quite as easily. If you are in any dread of them you had perhaps better be careful lest she makes them with yourself."Walter's brow was contracted, and his eyes shone with an angry light."Was that what you were trying to do this evening?" he said savagely. Then he controlled himself. "Excuse me," he said, "it was only that I felt a curiously controlling force upon my nerves. I did not quite understand what it could be, but I see now that your will might possibly have set itself against mine.""And conquered, I think," said the Professor."No, not conquered," said Walter, "as your will went simply in the same direction as my own."The Professor felt his first touch of defeat as he bowed in answer to Walter's remark. It was not that he believed in the statement Walter made, but that he recognised the young man's still unconquered will, which would not at any rate acknowledge that he had been worsted.No more words were exchanged between them. The Professor solemnly held open the door and bowed low when Walter departed, but as soon as the door was again closed, he threw himself down in an armchair and laughed aloud."What a clever little witch that is," he said, half aloud to himself. "I hope there will be no reaction to-morrow; she acted her part well tonight, and I think, my good Matthew Chilworth, that your future is henceforth assured."Walter went down into the large central hall of the house, not thinking very much where he was going, and a little surprised to find some of the lights already turned out. Looking at the clock he was astonished to find it was so late—nearly half-past eleven. The performance in the laboratory had taken longer than he had imagined. He began to feel his head heavy and hot: he wanted fresh air before he could think of going to bed. He walked into the white drawing-room, turned up the lights, and opened wide two or three of the windows. Leaning out, he heard the noise of the brawling stream as it careered over stones and boulders on its way to the not far distant sea. What a noisy little stream it was! Yet, listening to it there in that silent hour, Walter could imagine how fond one might grow of a sound like that—a sound never silent, but always jubilant, eager and insistent. He leant out of the window listening to it for fully twenty minutes, and the cool night-breezes refreshed his over-heated brain. When again he closed the windows and drew the curtains, he felt quite himself again.But his nerves must have been a little over-wrought, for as he turned down the lights and had already left three-quarters of the room in darkness, he was sure that he heard a rustle of a dress, and he started and looked round, wondering whether by any chance Fenella had followed him downstairs for a parting word, or whether either of the servants had been disturbed by the shutting and opening of the windows, and had come to ascertain that there were no burglars in the house.But nobody stood in the doorway. All that he fancied he could see was the shape of someone—it looked like a little old lady in a dark dress and poke bonnet sitting on one of the wide rose-embroidered sofas in one corner of the room. He turned round to investigate, with his hand on the knobs of the electric light; but by mistake he turned up the wrong ones, so that that part of the room in which he had seen the little figure in brown was now quite left in darkness.Hastily he changed the switches, but when the light was turned on there was no figure of any person to be seen. Only, as he crossed the dimly-lighted hall, he could almost have fancied that the little brown figure—evidently of a very diminutive old woman, with one shoulder higher than the other—flitted up the stairs before him, and that for a moment he seemed to catch a glimpse of a face turned towards him over the balustrades at the turning of the corridor.For a moment he shrank back; then he laughed to himself. His nerves had been very much overstrained by the events of the past evening, but he could not help remembering the old legend of which half-a-dozen persons had already spoken to him, that the little Brown Lady of Corballis was always supposed to appear when any calamity was imminent. What calamity could the Brown Lady portend at a moment when he ought to consider himself most fortunate?He did not speak to anybody of what he fancied he had seen. He did not want, he said to himself, to be put down as a complete idiot. But nobody at Corballis Castle would have considered him an idiot for saying he had seen the Brown Lady. She had been reputed to appear more than two or three times in the course of each generation, and there was even a whisper that Nigel Erskine had met her face to face the night before Walter Urquhart put in his claim to the Corballis estate, but he had never spoken of it to anyone (save, perhaps, his mother), and Walter made up his mind that he also would not speak. Evidently the Master of Corballis was expected to do and to bear more than usually falls to the lot of an ordinary Scottish laird. He meant to "dree his weird" in silence, without complaint or recrimination.He breakfasted alone, as he usually did when Nigel was away, and he did not see Fenella until lunch time. He knew very well that it was useless to ask for a private interview with Lady Mary in the course of the morning. She was never strong enough to hold agitating conversations at that time of the day; but he resolved to speak to Nigel first, and to Nigel's mother, before the end of the day.He was astonished, however, to see that Fenella, instead of appearing joyous or animated, was the picture of haggard misery. Even Lady Mary, who was not usually observant, looked at her once or twice rather anxiously, and inquired whether she felt well."I am perfectly well, thank you," said Fenella, rather snappishly, at last."I am afraid you did not sleep well," said Lady Mary."How do you know?" said Fenella, with a blaze of light in her green eyes."Well, my dear, I think you must have had bad dreams. My door was open a little way last night, and I could distinctly hear you moaning as if you were in pain, and I woke Marriott and sent her in to look at you (Marriott was Lady Mary's own maid). She said you were crying, and calling out for Nigel in your sleep.""Oh, yes, I had a dreadful nightmare," said Fenella readily, and a bright flush came into her cheeks. "I had forgotten until you mentioned it. I dreamt something very terrible about Nigel. I think he was being swallowed by a great anaconda, and I was trying to pull him out of the snake's mouth. It really was a terrible dream!""I should think so, indeed," said Lady Mary sympathetically.CHAPTER XIXAT THE STATION"I HAVE a letter from Walter," said Janet one morning, rather slowly, "and he wishes us to pack up and join him at Corballis Castle as soon as possible.""Really, Janet? All of us.""Yes, all of us," said the elder sister, looking up with a smile. He says, "Lady Mary, Nigel, and the others having left me, I feel quite lonely in this big house. There are almost forty bedrooms, I believe, so there will be plenty of room for you. I should like you all to come before the good weather is over; I only hesitated to ask you earlier on Lady Mary's account, as I thought that she might be a little worried by so many young people in the house. Of course, I do not want you to dismantle the house or to bring everything that you are possessed of to Corballis: the Stone House may still be useful to us by and by; but you must come prepared to stay to the end of the holiday season. Then, when Guy has gone back to Cambridge and we have chosen a school for Annabel, we can consider what is to be done with the rest of you.""Oh, jolly!" cried the boys. "We've ever so much time yet. What a splendid time we shall have!"Janet did not read aloud the concluding words: "I have a great piece of news for you when you come North, Janet, and I hope you will be pleased to hear of my happiness.""It is Fenella—Fenella!" she cried to herself. "I felt sure that she wanted him; and now she has succeeded. Oh, I am sorry! I don't think she will make him happy. But it is useless to object. I shall only alienate them both if I show that I don't like it. And above all things, I mustn't betray to the children that I do not like the engagement. I need not say anything about it to them just yet, fortunately. But it puts an end to any idea of our living permanently at Corballis, even if there are forty rooms: we shall never get on—Fenella and I."As usual, she went to consult her friend Mrs. Marston, as soon as breakfast was over, and dilated with some emphasis on the pleasures of life at Corballis Castle. But Mrs. Marston was not to be easily taken in. She saw that Janet's eyes were troubled in spite of her brave words."What is it, Janet?" she said at last, laying her hand on Janet's fingers."What is—what?""You are not quite happy: what is it?""You are so awfully quick, dear Mrs. Marston. Well, it is only that from something Walter says—though it is not explicit, and you must not say a word about it—I gather that he is engaged to be married.""That girl Fenella?" said Mrs. Marston, who knew everyone at Corballis by name."Yes. And I don't think they are suited to each other at all. She is so fantastic, so full of strange ideas!""Marriage will cure them, my dear.""It would—with some men; but it seems to me that Walter is too easy-going; he would let Fenella do precisely what she pleased for the sake of peace.""Well, they may grow together as time goes on. Don't be too anxious, Janet: I am always warning you against over-anxiety.""I know; and I do try to keep myself more in hand. But with a flock like mine there is always somebody to be anxious about.""And who is it now?""It is Patricia," said Janet, with some hesitation."Patricia—again?""Oh, it is not anybody new. We have net made any fresh acquaintances. It is only that I fancy she is looking melancholy and growing very thin; it may be only a fancy after all.""She does look rather thin and pale," said Mrs. Marston, after a little reflection. "But you surely don't think that that young organist made such an impression on her as to cause this change?""I don't know—I can't tell. He went away rather suddenly, did he not? And I always thought her feelings were hurt about it a little.""Get her away to Corballis, and she'll forget all about him," said Mrs. Marston, emphatically. "You will see plenty of people there, and she will have to go about—to parties and merrymakings, and these will soon drive poor young St. Just out of her head. Not but what he was a nice fellow, Janet. I always thought you were very unjustly prejudiced against him.""Perhaps so; and yet Patricia herself was angry with him at the last. He cannot have been—quite—a gentleman. He took liberties!""Hm! I think he was a gentleman. However, he seems to have drifted beyond our ken: I don't suppose we shall hear of him again. And now tell me, my dear Janet, has Walter had the sense to send you some money?""Yes, indeed he has. I had a cheque for a hundred pounds this morning.""Little enough, considering all you have to do with it. The boys all want a thorough rig-out. Then there are yourself, Patricia, the two children and Aunt Sally—I suppose she goes with you? Eight people. Eights in a hundred? Not much more than twelve pounds each; only, of course, Dora and Annabel need not cost even that. But, my dear Janet, twelve pounds is too little for even one dress of the kind you ought to wear.""I can't ask Walter for any more," said Janet, with tears in her eyes."I don't see why you shouldn't. You want to do him credit. It isn't enough to make an appearance upon, Janet, and it is very important that you should make a good appearance. You want three time as much. And I am sure it is only ignorance on Walter's part, not meanness, that causes him to send so inadequate a sum——""Mrs. Marston! How can you use such a word?""Meanness? Well, I don't, dear. It is ignorance, I say, that prevents him from knowing what things cost. Now you ought to write to him and say plainly that you can get the boys' things out of what he has sent, but not the girls'. Ask him for another hundred at least; it is for his own credit."But Janet absolutely refused to do this. And little did she suspect that Mrs. Marston applied herself to the task of writing to Walter and telling him of all the things he ought to do, so that she was merely astonished and relieved when he wrote again, stating that he had been considering what they were likely to need and that he fancied they would all want a decent rig-out; and he enclosed two hundred pounds more for that purpose. Whereat Janet's heart rejoiced, and she bought a good solid silk gown for herself, and many little trifles in lace and chiffon for Patricia.The day came when they were to travel north, and a great business it was to get the party off by train. Mr. and Mrs. Marston came to assist, but even with their help Jack was very nearly left behind, and several boxes were wrongly labelled and went astray. However, they were safely off at last, and the journey passed without adventure or mishap of any kind until they reached the junction from which they took a slow country train to the station near Corballis.And here Jack distinguished himself. They were all in the old-fashioned compartment, the younger ones staring out at the country, the older ones trying to restrain the others from falling out of the windows, when he uttered a quick exclamation."What is it?" said Janet, keenly alive to anything new or unexpected."Why, it's that organist-fellow," Jack said.Patricia's face became instantly crimson. She was sitting next one of the windows, but she did not seem inclined to look out."Don't you want to see?" said Jack. "There he is—getting into a first-class carriage, I declare; as grand as a lord. He doesn't see us.""We don't want him to see us," said Patricia, with a frown. "Keep away from the window, Jack.""Not I," said Jack. "He wouldn't know me, so it doesn't matter. But did you notice what a swell he was, Patricia? He looked as if he'd been used to first-class carriages all his life.""Well, we don't make a fuss about it when we get into one," said Patricia, sharply. "We take it quietly, I hope.""Oh, yes," said Jack, not listening particularly. "There! he's leaning out; he's getting a paper. Do you think I might nod?""No, certainly not.""Well, I don't see why I shouldn't; I always rather liked him. Didn't you, Pat?""Never mind," said Pat, with crimson cheeks."That means you did; I know," said the precocious youth. "He played awfully well, didn't he? I say, Pat"—lowering his voice—" I don't know whether you know it, but it was all because of you that he stayed such a time at Waltham.""Nonsense! How can you tell?""Because he as good as told me so. I used to go and talk to him sometimes—he was an awful good sort and used to give me half-crowns -on the sly—and one day I asked him straight out what he was stopping for in that wretched little hole; and he said—shall I tell you what he said?"Patricia cast a hasty glance round the carriage. Everybody seemed absorbed in his or her own occupation, and no one was listening to what Jack said. "Go on," she said hurriedly."Well, he said, 'I'm staying because of one of your sisters: do you know which one?' And I said, 'Pat, I suppose.' And he nodded. But a few days afterwards he had gone, and I never could imagine why.""Jack, never tell that to anyone," said Patricia quickly."Why not? There's nothing much in it.""Oh, don't, Jack dear. For my sake, don't.""You needn't cry," said the boy, in an injured tone: "I won't if you don't want me to. But if he's living in this neighbourhood, I hope we shall come across him again."Patricia was silent. She was secretly very sore on the subject of Mr. Bertram St. Just.Jack kept an eager look-out for the organist at every station, and was delighted when he saw him emerge on a little wayside platform before Corballis was reached. In the exuberance of his spirits he sent out a sudden yell, which Mr. St. Just certainly heard, for he looked with pensive surprise towards the carriage in which Jack was travelling. But, rather to Patricia's disappointment, he did not seem to recognise the boy. The evening was closing in, and Jack's face was probably in shadow: at any rate, there was some reason to conclude that Mr. St. Just did not realise that he saw before him an old acquaintance. He looked and turned away; while Jack, suffocating with a sense of wounded pride, dropped back into his seat and gave vent to his indignation."Well I never! He saw me; I'm sure he did—but wouldn't see me, I suppose. We're not respectable enough for the likes of him! Janet, did you see? Did you hear? It was Mr. St. Just out there, and he saw us and cut us dead.""Are you sure that he saw you?""He saw Jack," said Patricia, coldly. "He must have seen Jack, but evidently he did not wish to speak.""What cheek!" said Annabel. "Does he think himself too good for us, then?""I dare say he didn't see you," said Janet consolingly. She hardly dared glance at Patricia's flushed cheeks. "Now, children, collect your things; we are nearly there, and Walter will not want to be kept waiting."The young people seized their bags and baskets, and waited in a sort of ecstasy for the stoppage of the train. It was indeed a tremendous happiness for them to escape from the poverty of the Stone House, and to realise that their brother was both rich and good-natured, and had invited them to stay with him until the end of their holidays. They watched anxiously to see whether he would be at the station, and were delighted nd him in charge of a dog-cart (with a less spirited mare, however, than poor Black Nell), and with a waggonette for "the family." Janet was invited to join him on the front seat of the dog-cart, and it was while he was driving her home that he gave her the news at which he had hinted in his letter."You must have guessed, Janet.""Partly—yes, I think I did.""You don't look very pleased," said Walter, half nervously, half ready to take offence."It is rather sudden, Walter. But Fenella is very, very pretty. I hope she will make you a good wife.""Do you doubt it?" he said, rather fiercely."Of course I don't doubt it, dear—if she loves you; that is the chief thing.""Yes," he said, rather curtly, "of course, that is very important, though not so important, I sometimes imagine, as women think. Suitability is the great thing."Janet replied in generalities: she could not say too much in detail, but she was marvelling at his sentiments. To tell the truth, they did not sound to her much like those of a man in love.But Corballis Castle was reached before long, and Fenella was forgotten in the wild delight with which the children realised that they were in Walter's home at last.CHAPTER XXFENELLA'S ATTACHMENTWALTER had felt some awkwardness in announcing his engagement to Janet, but this awkwardness was nothing compared with what he had felt when he first spoke of the matter to Lady Mary. He was very nervous and blundered a good deal in making his communication, so that Lady Mary took some minutes to understand him properly."You want to get married, Walter," she said gently. "Well, I think it is a very good idea, supposing you meet somebody suitable.—Oh, you have met somebody suitable, have you? And who may it be? I don't exactly know all the young ladies you have met, but I suppose it can be nobody here as it is such a short time since you arrived.""But it is somebody here," said Walter. "It is someone that you know very well.""Someone I know very well," said Lady Mary reflectively. "Well, I should think it would be Virginia Craven, for she is just the sort of girl who would suit you."For some unknown reason Walter blushed."Ah, I see I am right," said Lady Mary, with satisfaction. "You are colouring—you look quite guilty. It is you and Virginia, is it? Well, my dear, I congratulate you.""But it is not Miss Craven at all, Lady Mary," said Walter desperately. "I admire Miss Craven very much, but I never thought of such a thing as asking her to be my wife. Besides, I have only seen her once or twice. It is Fenella.""What! Fenella?" said Lady Mary. She looked perfectly astounded, and her lips tightened a very little, as though she were not altogether pleased, although she was fond of Fenella. "But, Walter," she said at last, with a sinking intonation in her refined old voice, "I never thought of this.""Did you not?" said Walter meekly. "I thought it had been pretty evident for some time—at least, I think Janet was rather anxious about it while she was here.""So soon!" ejaculated the old lady. "And I thought——" She hesitated a little and then said: "Well, never mind what I thought. I had a different future in my mind for Fenella, that was all. But, my dear Walter, I hope you have seriously considered what a marriage with Fenella may mean. If I had thought of the possibility of such a thing I would have warned you before. Fenella has a touch of Hindu blood in her veins—more than a touch, in fact—her mother was the daughter of an Indian princess. In England," said the old lady, with a subtle smile, "we do not think very much of these Oriental potentates. Nevertheless, if it is of any interest to you, I can assure you that Fenella is of royal descent. But I never like the admixture of races; in my opinion it seldom turns out well. For, of course, if you have a family, there is always the chance of the old hereditary signs of race reappearing; and it is something to think, Walter,—that your sons will have black blood in their veins.""In these days," said Walter, "people surely don't think so much of the old race prejudice.""On the contrary," said Lady Mary, "I think you will find them as strongly marked as ever.""But, excuse me," said Walter, "what did you think of doing with Fenella? Did you not think she would marry an Englishman?""Well, yes, I suppose so," Lady Mary answered, rather slowly. "But, perhaps I did not realise that she was on the way to become the wife of the Master of Corballis. It is different from an ordinary marriage, don't you see? And, on the whole, I should have preferred her to settle down in a quieter, more humdrum manner, without expecting any very great things in life.""Do you think Fenella would ever be content to settle down in a humdrum manner?" said Walter, with a smile."Perhaps not, she craves always for excitement. Well, Walter, it is irrevocable, is it? You have spoken, you have pledged your word?""Certainly I have," said Walter. "We waited until we asked your consent, and then we thought the engagement could be announced."It seemed to him as though Lady Mary winced. "To tell the truth, Walter," she said, "I don't like your engagement. I am sorry that you spoke so soon, and that Fenella gave you so hasty an answer. She is not very old; it is quite possible that she does not know her own mind. I will speak to her, and until I have spoken, would you be so kind as not to mention the matter to anybody else—not even to Nigel—until I have seen you again?""Certainly, I will do as you wish," said Walter gravely. But he went away from Lady Mary feeling a slight touch of offence because she had seemed so unwilling to receive him as a suitor for her young kinswoman. He hardly knew whether she disapproved of the engagement for his sake, or for Fenella's; but it was plain that she had not received the news with the pleasure which Walter had expected to witness.She sent for Fenella as soon as Walter had gone, and Fenella came obediently, looking very meek, in a trailing grey gown, with her dusky hair loosely fastened in a large knot at the nape of her neck. With her slim hands clasped before her, and her eyes cast down, she presented a picture of maidenly innocence and simplicity."Sit down, Fenella," said Lady Mary gravely. "I suppose you know that Walter has just been here?""Has he gone?" said Fenella, looking round. "I thought he would have stayed a little while.""I sent him away. I wanted to speak to you first. He tells me, Fenella, that he has asked you to be his wife.""Yes, Aunt Mary.""And that you have consented.""Yes.""Tell me, then, Fenella, what is the nature of your feelings towards him? Do you think that you really care for him, or is it only a whim such as I have known you indulge in before? With a man like Walter there can be no drawing back, you know; no jilting, or saying that you did not know your own mind. You must make up your own mind now, and say whether you care for him or not, and then you must hold to your decision.""I am sure I never cared for anybody before," said Fenella, with gentle petulance. "You are thinking of that silly boy who used to write letters to me, but I am sure I never encouraged him.""Possibly not," said Lady Mary doubtfully; "but I thought at another time that you had a sort of infatuation—of course, only a childish fancy—for Nigel. And again, I was told that you were on very affectionate terms with the Professor, although, of course, he is too old to regard you as anything but a little girl. So, Fenella, I must point out to you that these vagaries are incompatible to a serious engagement, and if you really prefer Walter, and choose him out of all the world to be your husband, you must be absolutely true and faithful to him as long as you live."There was a curious significance in Lady Mary's tones which was not lost upon Fenella, and she looked up quickly, and said:"You speak as if you had some meaning which I don't understand, Aunt Mary.""My dear, I don't speak without reason. There is a story about your mother which I don't wish to enter upon just now; but this I may say, that the reason why you were left upon my hands in early life was that your mother left her home with someone who happened to take her fancy. It is well that you should know this so that you may be on your guard. Anything of that sort must not happen in the Corballis family."Of course, I understand," said Fenella, stiffening a little with resentment, which Lady Mary could not fail to perceive. "But you may set your mind quite at rest. I have deliberately chosen Walter; it is not a mere fancy. I would sooner marry him than anyone else.""You are attached to him?" said Lady Mary gently.For a moment Fenella felt inclined to break out into shrill laughter. "Attached to him? Yes certainly, but by what bonds?—the bonds of greed and avarice, not the bonds of love."It would not do, however, to tell Lady Mary that, so she said, very demurely, "I am very much attached to him.""Then I suppose I can but give my consent," said Lady Mary, though her countenance did not betoken any special pleasure. "Still, I would like to speak to Nigel before the engagement is announced, Fenella. I suppose he is not yet aware of it?""No, I think not, I don't believe Walter has mentioned it, and I certainly have not.""Very well, then; I will speak to Nigel when he comes in this evening. Kiss me, my dear, and forgive me if I have pained you by my reference to your poor mother. It was a very sad story, and not one which I should like to see repeated in any way.""Of course not, Aunt Mary," said Fenella. And then she kissed her Aunt and departed, in a bad temper with herself and all the world, in spite of her outward demureness.But Lady Mary's astonishment was as nothing compared with that of Nigel when he heard the news."What! Walter and Fenella?" he said, sitting down suddenly, as though he were too much astonished to stand. "But it is a ridiculous idea, they will never get on together.""I don't think they are very well suited to each other, I must say," replied Lady Mary, "but I don't know that there is anything to be done. Walter is, of course, quite old enough to choose for himself, and Fenella is a woman in some ways, although in others she seems such a child.""I think there is more of the woman than the child about her," said Nigel. "Poor little Fenella! I thought at one time——" He stopped short, and seeing his mother looking at him anxiously, he replied to her glance with an amused smile."Nigel, did you ever think of proposing to her?" said his mother."I am afraid I did," said Nigel easily. "It was a year or two ago when I had been away, you know, and had almost forgotten the little thing's pretty, kittenish ways. I was perfectly fascinated for a while: in fact, I had some qualms of conscience, for I thought that I had stolen her heart, perhaps. But I came to the conclusion afterwards that Fenella was well able to look after herself in that respect.""You don't think that she cared for you, then?" said Lady Mary hastily."Oh, no, not in the least. I made a good playfellow for her, that is all. But during the last few months she has been so taken up with the occult sciences that I did not think she had time for falling in love.""If she marries Walter," said Lady Mary, "all that is morbid and melancholy in her will disappear.""I should think so," said Nigel. "Walter is a thoroughly good fellow, but I don't think he will put up with any nonsense. I cannot help being a little surprised. As a matter of fact, I have been thinking who Walter could marry, and I had fixed on Virginia Craven.""Curiously enough, so did I," said Lady Mary. And they both laughed a little ruefully, for although they were both glad that Fenella would be settled in life, they could not help feeling that Virginia Craven would have made a better partner for Walter.Corballis Castle had a pleasant old-fashioned garden with broad herbaceous borders filled with Japanese anemones, dahlias and asters at this time of year, and it was on the gravelled walk running between two of these richly-flowering beds that Nigel and Fenella met."Well," he said cheerfully, "so you have stolen a march on us all, little one. How did Walter come to choose you?"She gave him a curious glance—it was not a childish glance, nor was it the look of a tender and loving-hearted woman: her eyes were full of mingled passion and vindictiveness."Perhaps," she said slowly, "he thought that no one else wanted me.""Oh, he certainly could not think that," said Nigel, with a laugh, "when he knew how much in request you were.""Don't laugh at me," she said angrily."Why should I not laugh?" Nigel asked lightly. "One always laughs a little at a person who is engaged, you know.""You are very cold-hearted," she said hurriedly. "You used to speak differently. You used to say that the man who married me would be your—your deadliest enemy.""That was rather a rash assertion," said Nigel, "and I am sure it won't be corroborated by facts, seeing that Walter is becoming quite a great friend of mine. That was one of the foolish things I said in my salad days.""You were much nicer then than you are now," she said, almost passionately."One must necessarily change as one grows older," said Nigel, more seriously than he had hitherto spoken.From Fenella's quivering eyelids, and the dropped corners of her mouth, he was rather afraid that she was going to cry."But you have no need to think of me and what I am like," he said. "Your business is with Walter. I am quite sure he means all he says, whether I did or not.""Do you mean that you are trying to deceive me?" she asked, with a quick upward flash of her strange eyes."Certainly not," said Nigel, "but I think that sometimes boys and girls don't know their own minds. I hope you know yours, Fenella, with regard to Walter. You know it would never do to accept him and then to throw him over; it would make too much talk and sensation.""As though I thought of such a thing," said Fenella, shrugging her shoulders. "You are all very unkind to me to-day, I must say. Aunt Mary has been suggesting that I shall run awray from my husband, and now you talk of my throwing Walter over as coolly as though it were nothing at all. Do you think I am a fool? Don't you see that any of those courses would mean social disgrace for me? I am not a baby, Nigel, although you and Aunt Mary sometimes seem to think I am."He put a detaining hand upon her arm, hoping to soothe her by a few affectionate words, but she broke away from him and ran back into the house, where she threw herself down upon the floor of her room and indulged in a loud, passionate fit of crying. When she appeared at dinner-time traces of tears were still visible in her face, but Lady Mary and Nigel attributed them to the hint that she had received concerning her mother's story, rather than to anything affecting her present concerns. She slipped away soon after dinner, and Nigel, sitting beside his mother, could not help letting fall one little remark."I wonder whether she is really in love with Walter, after all?""I never quite like the expression 'in love,'" said Lady Mary, "I always think it sounds a little immodest and inappropriate to a young girl. I must say I hope that her attachment to Walter is of the sort that will stand the strain of marriage. If there is not true affection between man and wife there can certainly never be happiness.""That is what I meant when I said that I hoped she was in love with Walter," said Nigel."Ah," said Lady Mary, sighing, "different generations put things in very different words. And when do Walter's brothers and sisters arrive, Nigel'?""Next week, I believe," said Nigel. "Not before we go. I think that Walter thought they might be a little overpowering for you.""Oh, I shall be very pleased to see them," said Lady Mary, rather slightingly. "Of course, I suppose they are rather a noisy crew, but we shall not hear much of them when we are away at the Dower House."Nigel took her hand in his, and held it fast. She understood the comfort he meant to convey by that warm clasp."Walter has made the Dower House very pretty," he said presently."And I mean to be very happy there," said Lady Mary, with a smile. "You must not mind if I grumble a little now and then."Nigel kissed his mother's hand by way of reply. It was not her habit to grumble, as he knew full well, and he only hoped that the care and pains which Walter was expending upon the Dower House would be recompensed by a certain amount of pleasure on his mother's part, after the careful consideration of her tastes which he had shown.CHAPTER XXIA NEW FRIENDTHE Urquhart children at once took the heart of the Corballis Castle household by storm. Their good looks were decidedly in their favour; "For," as the housekeeper said, "it was not often that you saw eight brothers and sisters each one of them prettier than the other, and most of them golden-haired and blue-eyed like angels, and all clean of limb and wholesome-looking;" and although they had good spirits and were fond of fun as they well could be, they were, on the whole, extremely well-behaved.Naturally they waxed uproarious when they found themselves in a house with three staircases, corridors, galleries and attics without end, and pleasure grounds around it extending for acres. These were joys which naturally incited all sorts of mirth and adventures; and as Janet very soon remarked, their absolute freedom kept the younger folk out of the state drawing-room, and away from the treasures which made the lower part of the house like a museum, and they willingly confined themselves to the less-inhabited parts of the house. Of course, they had to be warned against disturbing the Professor, who visited his laboratory every day and was not supposed to be disturbed. He came and went, looking very sour, for he found it troublesome to go home for his meals; and in fact Janet so far favoured him, now that she was mistress of the house, that she always sent him a cup of tea in the afternoon and luncheon whenever the weather was at all bad. She disliked him quite as much as Walter did, but she recognised the fact that it was a little hard to turn him adrift, when he had lived so long in comparative luxury in Corballis Castle.Then the children were taken two by two to pay a solemn call on Lady Mary, of whom they were distinctly afraid, although Lady Mary was particularly gracious to them, and told the boys of the scrapes that Nigel used to get into wrhen he was their age. And she was a type with which they were not familiar; they knew the brisk and bustling Mrs. Marston, or the vain and frivolous spinster, Miss Sally; but this beautiful old lady, with her silver hair and venerable appearance, made them quite shy and awkward in her presence. Secretly the boys adored her, but Annabel, who was perhaps the least well-behaved of the party, was bored by her, and Dora was so frightened that she almost cried. The next that presented themselves were Guy and Patricia, and with them Lady Mary was extremely well pleased. She found Guy extremely intelligent, and made him tell her all the gossip of his undergraduate days. But with Patricia she fell in love at once. There was something in the girl's sweet eyes and graceful movements that went straight to Lady Mary's heart, though she made a mistake in tactics when she said afterwards to Fenella—"I should like you to make a friend of that little girl Patricia. She is different from the others; she looks lonely, somehow.""I don't see how she can be lonely when she has seven brothers and sisters," said Fenella crossly."One may be lonely, although one is in a crowd. What I mean to say is rather that she looks as if she had a lonely spirit. If she were a little older I should think she had a hidden sorrow of some kind, but she is too young to know what sorrow means.""You think us all such babies," cried Fenella. She showed her temper much more freely now than in the days when she was entirely dependent on Lady Mary and Nigel. "After all, she is my age, and I am not a child. Oh, you smile, I know, but one is not a child at nineteen.""I remember thinking so also," said Lady Mary, "when I was that age; and I suppose you are right, Fenella. I was married when I was nineteen, and, of course, I didn't feel myself a child; but I think Patricia Urquhart is a little younger than you; she looks younger in some ways—she has younger ways.""At any rate," said Fenella, "it is a relief to see something different from the yellow hair and blue eyes that are so prevalent in that family. Walter and Guy and the four younger ones are all alike. Janet is a little darker, but not much; but Patricia is the only one with any distinct colour about her.""She is very pretty," murmured Lady Mary; "but they are a handsome family, Fenella, in spite of what you say about the monotony of their colouring.""Patricia," said the girl, looking dreamily away into the distance, "has rather the eyes of a person who sees things. Do you know what I mean, Aunt Mary? She looks to me as if she could see ghosts.""Nonsense, Fenella," said Lady Mary rather severely, "you are a little too fond of talking about the supernatural. I do beg you won't discuss such matters with the young Urquharts. Patricia looks to me like a rather nervous girl."But Fenella did not promise; she had her own views on the subject of what to say to the young Urquharts, and it had lately occurred to her as a desirable object to give them a fear or dislike to Corballis Castle as a place in which extraordinary things might be expected to appear. Before long she had told them all the legends of the house, including that of the little Brown Lady, when she had been rewarded by seeing a very sacred look come into Patricia's eyes, and by noticing during one evening that Patricia betrayed an instinctive dislike to walking alone down unlighted corridors."I will get the Professor to produce a few new effects," said Fenella, laughing to herself, as she saw a rather scared look in Patricia's eyes. Doubtless she found a means of securing interviews with the Professor, although she could only see him in the laboratory, as she could not very well go to the Professor's lodgings, except rarely when she had a message to leave for Lady Mary. But as the Professor still continued to be Lady Mary's medical adviser, they had moments in which a few stray sentences could surely be dropped. It had always been established as a fact in the country-side that Corballis Castle was haunted; but no notice was taken of such stories, although they grimly believed in the apparition of the little Brown Lady who appeared before any time of trouble. But at this time it seemed as if some strange sinster influence were at work through the house. Dora was heard screaming in the night, and sobbed out her story of a tall white lady who had come and looked at her as she lay in bed; and Janet was troubled by the swish of long trailing garments in the corridor outside her door. The boys were not given to detailing their experiences, but more than once Janet fancied that they looked extremely pale and scared at breakfast-time; and after a little inquiry she found cut that every night at a certain hour there were knocks on the floor of the room above their room, that was always unoccupied, and that they would hear steps coming slowly down the turret staircase accompanied by a faint clinking of chains.Walter declared he heard nothing, but he seemed very silent every morning, and the servants began to whisper fearfully among themselves and to say that since the new family came, "The dead could not lie quiet in their graves."All Janet could do at present was to change the rooms in which the children slept, and she found that by putting them close together on a lower floor that there was complete peace. Evidently the ghosts, such as they were, only haunted the upper storey.As soon as the young people got outside the gloomy walls of Corballis Castle, however, life became quite a different thing. They went black-berrying, they climbed some of the neighbouring hills and explored the county for miles around. It was during one of these excursions that they made acquaintance with Virginia Craven, who had been tramping through ploughed fields half the day with her father, who was out shooting, and she was glad to think the homeward walk had begun.She was just in time to save Dora and Jack from being well peppered with small shot, for, not understanding the rules of the game, they were well in the line of Sir Peter's fire, and all his shouting and that of the keeper had not availed to make them understand that they must turn aside. However, Virginia first rescued them and then inquired their names, and after that took the party of six home with her to tea.Janet and Walter had gone out in state to pay calls, but Patricia and Guy had begged off in order to join the younger children. Sir Peter's house was nearly as ancient as the Castle, but it was not so warlike in character, being long and low, and rather of a Gothic character—in fact its name of "The Priory" indicated that it had once been a religious house, and the latticed windows and great arches were rather ecclesiastical in appearance, but most of the grey stonework was hidden by a tremendous growth of a small-leafed creeper which grows particularly well in that part of Scotland, and which was now turning crimson with the tints of autumn, while the garden was a mass of chrysanthemums and other late flowering shrubs and plants.The afternoon was rather chilly, and there was a fire lighted in Sir Peter's study, where they all had tea instead of going into the drawing-room, and Virginia sat on the hearthrug and helped the children to toast muffins, and afterwards instructed them in the arts that were to be practised at Hallow E'en, showing them how to place nuts on the bars of the grate and to read fortunes in the fire. She was a little startled, however, by the expression of Patricia's face when she said—"But you do not believe these things really, do you?""Of course I do not. I was only making a little fun for the children; children always like these queer old customs.""You are not like Fenella, then, who practises them.""Oh, Fenella! I have no patience with her! I only mean to say that I think she has carried her love of the occult to a dangerous degree, and I only hope that she will not suffer for it by and by. I am always afraid these things may lead to harm.""You really do not think there is anything in it?" said Patricia. "You don't think that at Corballis Castle dead people walk?""You poor child," said Virginia, drawing her a little closer, and looking steadfastly into her eyes, "why, I believe Fenella is trying to frighten you. My dear, I have known Corballis Castle all my life, and there never was anything worse in it than ourselves.""But there is surely the little Brown Lady? " said Patricia."Oh, yes, but she is very harmless; and she only appears to the head of the house, and then only to warn him that some danger is coming near. I always think she must be a very kindly ghost," said Virginia, with a reproving smile; "now believe me, these stories are all inventions, and I think they are chiefly inventions of Fenella's. Perhaps she gets that Professor of hers to help her.""But how can they make the sounds the boys heard at night—the knocks and the footsteps'?""I do not know, but I am sure he has his own methods. If I were your brother," said Virginia, speaking in a more serious tone, "I really would look out for new arrangements of electrical wires. I have heard of some very curious stories which have their origin entirely in the way the wires have been made to work. It would be the easiest thing in the world, for instance, to produce knocks on the floor of a room.""And the Professor's laboratory," said Patricia, "was almost next door to the attic where the boys heard the knocks. The Professor doesn't sleep there, sO one doesn't know whether he could have had a hand in it.""I dare say he could by means of machinery," said Virginia; " at any rate you might suggest to your brother to have a good search for wires and mechanical contrivances. It is not a mere fancy of my own, for I know another family in which the same sort of thing occurred. The son was an electrical engineer, and afterwards went out of his mind; but he amused himself in the meantime by frightening everyone in the house with his contrivances.""I will tell Walter," said Patricia eagerly, " what you have suggested.""I don't want to be unjust," said Virginia, "but I think it is the very result Fenella would like to bring about. Don't let me poison your minds against her, but still I do think she is the sort of girl who would rather not have her husband's family in the house."It was dusk before the young people were ready to go home, so Sir Peter insisted upon their packing themselves into his wagonette so that their sister should not become anxious about them, nor they be entirely tired. There was a little wet mist rising from the ground as they drove away, and the last thing they saw of Sir Peter was his red face twinkling at them like a harvest moon, while he waved his long arms at them and called out cheerily, " Come again soon.""What jolly people," Jack observed. "I tell you what, I wish Walter had gone and proposed to Miss Craven instead of Fenella.""You must not say such things," said Patricia, in a shocked tone of voice. "Walter fell in love with Fenella, and not Miss Craven.""Well, he was a jolly fool to do it," observed Jack. "Virginia is stunning.""You must not call her Virginia," said Patricia, shocked again."Oh, yes, we may, she told us so, didn't she, Annabel? She said we were all to call her by her Christian name.""Well, so she did. She seems very nice," said Annabel, whose words of praise were never excessive."Yes, she is one of the nicest girls I have met for a long time," said Guy, with his most grown-up air, "and she is a long chalk handsomer than Fenella."The children agreed with him. They disliked Fenella, and Jack had been heard to say that " green eyes were hideous."They arrived at Corballis Castle brimful of histories, and more enthusiastic about Virginia than they had ever been known to appear with regard to any acquaintance. Janet, who had not yet met her, was quite astonished at the extent of their enthusiasm, and upon remarking upon it to Walter, was a little surprised to see that he coloured slightly as he answered: "She seems to be a very attractive kind of girl, certainly; but of course, she is entirely Fenella's opposite in every way.""And what about her suggestion to Patricia as regards electrical wires?""It seems to me rather strange," said Walter; "but some day, when I can get a man in who knows something about electricity, I will have some of the boards taken up in the attic and see if there is any connection with the Professor's room. I always have a feeling that the man is uncannily clever, and not to be trusted with the powers he uses so freely."Henceforward the boys were always rushing over to the Priory to see how Virginia was getting on, and the girls occasionally accompanied them. Annabel was less ready than her brothers to take the long walk to the Priory, and she was beginning to attach herself more to the society of her elders, and to go out calling with Janet; but Dora and the boys were almost constantly to be found at the Priory in the afternoon. They only went into the drawing-room by special permission, but they haunted the library and Sir Peter's study as well as various other parts, where they unearthed extraordinary treasures and a whole system of underground cellars which were supposed to be the cells of the monks in ancient days. It was then that Jack was careering along one of the passages at dusk one afternoon, when he came full tilt against a stranger whom he certainly had not expected to meet, namely, the organist who had once given Patricia music lessons at Little Waltham."Hallo! " he said, staring at the young man, "why, it is Mr. St. Just, isn't it?""You have not forgotten me, then? " said Bertrand."No, that I haven't. Do you live about here," said Jack, with open eyes and mouth."Well, yes, I live in the neighbourhood.""And what do you come here for?" said Jack, with undisguised frankness. "Do you give Miss Craven music lessons?""We play together sometimes. Duets, you know," said Mr. St. Just."Then if you live near here why do you never come to see us?" said Jack, hospitably. "I thought you were somewhere about, because I saw you at the railway station the day we came from England. You got out at Belmont and stared me full in the face without saying anything, so I supposed you wanted to cut me.""Upon my word, I never saw you. I must have been thinking of something totally different. I was not expecting to come across you just then. And what are you doing here, may I ask?""Here? We have come to tea with Virginia.""No, but in this part of the world? Have you left High Waltham?""Only for the holidays," said Jack. "I thought you were there long enough to hear that my brother had come into some property down here. He has got a whole castle and a park with a stream running through it, and we are having a stunning time. There is a very good organ in one of the rooms—you ought to come and try it. Patricia plays on it sometimes.""Oh, your sister still keeps up her music then?""Oh, yes, a little; but she is turning stupid about everything nowadays. You would scarcely know her again, she looks so pale and thin. But everybody says this air is very bracing, so I dare say she will soon be better, and by the time we have to go back to the Stone House, I should think she would be all right again.""But why doesn't she stay at Corballis Castle with her brother?"Jack executed a wink with his left eyelid. "Don't you know better than that?" he said in a superior tone. "Walter is going to get married, and girls never like their husband's families. Everyone says that when Fenella is missus we shall all have to clear out and go back to the Stone House.""That is not very exciting," said Mr. St. Just, reflectively.At that moment a door in the corridor opened and Virginia appeared."Oh, I say, Virginia," cried Jack the irrepressible, "I didn't know you knew Mr. St. Just.""Know—who?" said Virginia, with a puzzled expression as she looked at Bertrand and gave him her hand, murmuring something which Jack vaguely thought to be another name; but he could not be sure, and therefore repeated his information in a firmer tone."He used to come and play the organ at Little Waltham church.""Of course I did," said the quondam organist. "I did not tell you about Little Waltham, did I, Miss Craven? But Jack is quite an old friend of mine; and you see has my rather uncommon name quite correctly," said Bertrand St. Just."I see," said Virginia, and then she smiled as though she were very much amused.CHAPTER XXIINIGEL SPEAKSWE'VE seen Mr. St. Just again!" Jack came into the white drawing-room to say. "He looked just the same as ever, except that he was" a bigger swell. I suppose he's giving Virginia music lessons.""Who's that?" said Nigel, who was just finishing tea with Janet and Patricia. "St. Just?—why, that's the family name of the Oranmores, you know.""Perhaps this young man is a connection," said Janet placidly. "He was playing in the orchestra at High Waltham, and then in the church at Little Waltham, before we came away. Nobody knew anything about him."At this point Patricia rose and vanished from the room, and Nigel glanced after her with the slightest possible expression of curiosity."Pat does not like to hear about him; they quarrelled, I think," said the younger brother, in the jeering tone usually adopted by small boys to their pretty sisters. "What did he do, Janet? I know she was awfully offended with him at the last.""Never mind, Jack. You need not bring us any more news of Mr. St. Just," said Janet, with dignity, "for it upsets Patricia, whom he vexed very seriously before he left Little Waltham, and I had really rather you did not mention his name.""Oh, very well," returned Jack disappointedly. "But what are we to do if we meet him at Virginia's?""I dare say you will not meet him often," said Janet, and Jack departed from the room feeling that he could not say all that he felt about the folly of girls while Mr. Erskine was there.When he had gone there was a little silence. The dusk was falling; there was a pleasant crackling of the fire in the grate; the shadows rose and fell over the painted panels of the walls. Janet sat doing nothing—a rare occasion with her; she wore a soft grey and white dress which suited her to perfection, and in the dim light her eyes seemed softened to serious sweetness. Nigel watched her furtively, yet with earnestness; it seemed as though he had something to say, yet scarcely knew how to say it."Is Walter coming in yet?""I am afraid he will not be in much before dinner. He was going to a committee of some sort.""Yes. Walter will be a useful man; far more so than I should have been," said Nigel, with a curiously heart-sick intonation."Don't say so, please! " cried Janet. "He is learning everything from you. And you are developing your own line. I heard Sir Peter say that you would be in Parliament before ten years were over——""That Walter would, you mean?""No, you—you. Walter is not in the least degree fitted for such a career. He takes no interest in politics. He has no great grasp of ideas, you know. He will be a simple-hearted, honest country gentleman, an excellent landlord, and eager to help in every good work, but I don't think he will ever be more.""And could I be more, do you think?"Nigel leaned forward a little in his chair as if to hear her reply more clearly."Of course you would. You have read, you have thought, you have views of your own. Mr. Erskine, you don't know how sometimes I regret the letter that those lawyers wrote to Walter, telling him about the Corballis Estate. We should have done very well as we were, while you have suffered a loss that we cannot make up.""Never mind about that. I shall perhaps make up the loss—if there is one—by my own exertions. And as. we are on the subject of the estate, you must allow me to say that Walter's generosity and consideration to us have been almost excessive. It was not to be wondered at that one of the judges complimented him from the bench upon the splendid way in which he had behaved to the dispossessed.""Did he?" said Janet, with her face aglow. "I am very glad to hear it; but I have no idea—Walter never said a word.""Walter wouldn't: he's much too modest," said Nigel. "But I assure you that I shall never forget all he has done for my mother and—for myself.""And how do you get on with Lord Oranmore? " said Janet, thinking it well to change the subject of conversation, for although she liked to hear Walter's praises she did not think it was decorous to seem greedy for them."Very well indeed, thanks. You know he is an old friend of mine. We were at Oxford together.""And he is really pleasant and nice?" said Janet vaguely."Very pleasant and very nice. I hope you will let me introduce him to you one day. I know that he wants to make your acquaintance.""I shall be very pleased. But what were you saying just now about the Oranmore's family name?""St. Just. I thought that the young man Jack mentioned might be a relation. It is not a very common name.""Bertrand St. Just," said Janet, a little doubtfully, and she noticed that Nigel started and seemed curiously disturbed. "It was such an out-of-the-way name that we were half afraid it was an assumed one."Did Nigel laugh? Or did he only cough? She could not be quite sure, and so she kept silence for a moment until he seemed to have recovered himself."I think I know the young man," Nigel said at length. "His name is quite genuine. But I cannot make out what he was doing at High Waltham, or Little Waltham either. He usually resides in this part of the world.""He is very musical. I suppose the music attracted him. He joined in the orchestra practice; the one that Patricia attended. Then he came to Little Waltham church and tried the organ. Mr. and Mrs. Marston were very pleased with his playing, and asked him whether he would play for a few Sundays, as the organist was leaving and they did not quite know what to do.""I see. So you made acquaintance in that way?""A little," said Janet, in a low voice. "If he is a relation of your old friends, I am sorry we did not treat him in a more friendly fashion."This time Nigel laughed openly, and with much amusement."Did you snub him, Miss Urquhart? I am sure he deserved it. He has been a spoiled lad all his life.""I only thought that he was inclined to go too far," said Janet, flushing uncomfortably. "He offered to give Patricia organ lessons, because he saw she had talent; and he wanted not to be paid for them, which we thought rather a liberty; and then he offended Patricia in some way—I don't quite know how—and she seemed very much upset. And since then we have not seen him, and I am rather sorry that he lives in the neighbourhood.''"I hope you will forgive him his misdemeanours, whatever they are," said Nigel, looking a little grave. "I do not think he can have meant any harm. He may have offended your sister quite accidentally. And as everybody knows everybody round about here, and many people are related or connected in some way, it might be awkward if you had a feud with any member of the Oranmore family.""Yes, I see. And now that we know who he is, it makes such a difference. Please don't think me a snob; I only meant that he came with no introductions, no reference of any sort, except one or two musical people, and we knew absolutely nothing about him. I have to watch over Patricia: she has no mother to tell her what friends to make, or what to do in an emergency.""No mother could be better to her than you are. Your devotion to your sisters and brothers is only too intense. I sometimes wish you did not care for them quite so much.""Why?""Because there would be more chance of persuading you to leave them.""But I do not want to leave them, Mr. Erskine.""I know that. And yet there are others who might wish to have a claim—""Others?"Janet's voice was only a confused murmur, but Nigel heard it because his head was very close to hers, and his hand was seeking the fingers that lay closely twined together on her lap."Can't you understand, Janet, that a man may sometimes long for a little of that wonderful tenderness and gentleness of yours for himself? He may want it so badly that he feels as if life were a void without it. That is what I have come to feel with you. If you cannot give me your love—well, what shall I have left? I have nothing to offer you—that is true; but if you loved me you would not mind that, would you?""Not—if I——"She did not complete the sentence. "And don't you, Janet?" he went on. "Just a little bit? Don't you feel as if you could bear with my defects? Dear, I know I am full of faults, but if you would have me I swear I would do my best to mend them. Your love would help me—your love is what I need.""My love would not be of much use to you," said Janet, in an unsteady voice."Try it and see!" cried Nigel, lifting her hand to his lips."Oh no, no, you mustn't do that!" she said, in a tone of genuine distress. "Why, no one ever kissed it before——""Let me kiss your lips, then, my darling," Nigel said. And before she could recover from her surprise he had pressed his lips to hers, and although she flushed very deeply she made no resistance, but only looked at him with serious and rather troubled eyes."Mr. Erskine," she said, "it is perfectly impossible.""Who is Mr. Erskine?" he asked coaxingly. "You are talking to Nigel—the Nigel who loves you and means to work for you. Tell me what is so impossible.""I could not possibly leave the children.""I think it could be managed—in a short time, dear, if not just at present. The boys are going to school and college; there will be one more home for them to come to in the holidays. The girls, too: they can be with you as much as you please.""But there is Patricia——""I have something to tell you about Patricia which will make you open your eyes presently," said Nigel, with a laugh in his voice. "I don't think you will have much more trouble about her. Never mind the difficulties and the objections, dearest. Just tell me once that you care for me a little, and the difficulties will settle themselves.""Ah, will they?" said Janet softly."Try the effect of saying 'I love you, Nigel,' and see how you feel," said Nigel, who had got his arm round her slim waist by this time. "Say it just once.""Once?—oh, well I suppose—I love you, Nigel; only it seems such a sudden thing to love anyone as quickly as I have done.""I did it more quickly still.""But you always do everything at lightning speed! And really, Nigel, I do not know whether I am right.""Why not, dearest?""I don't think it is fair to burden you with the children, and yet I must have them with me for part of the year. Perhaps it would really be better for me to go back to the Stone House with them, and wait.""Wait! What for?""Oh, until they are grown up and can take care of themselves.""Until Dora is grown up, for instance!"Janet laughed a little: Nigel was teaching her how to laugh."I will wait six months," he said decidedly, "and I will wait no longer, madam. I want you—I want you for my very own. And my mother wants you, too.""You are sure she will not be displeased?""She will be delighted. She told me to-day that she thought you were a model girl.""I would rather she were fond of me," said Janet."But she is. She said so. I think, Janet, you and my mother will be great friends.""I hope so. I love her already," Janet said. "But now tell me, Nigel, what is the surprising piece of news about Patricia?""Well, it isn't exactly about Patricia. It is about Bertrand St. Just. Don't you think she likes him a little?""I don't know," said Janet, looking grave."Well, I happen to know that he likes her; because Jack's statement to-day has revealed to me the name of the beautiful lady to whom he gave organ lessons in the summer. I want you to promise me that if he comes awooing, you will smile upon his suit!""But I must know who he is first.""Listen. Bend down your head. Don't let anyone else hear," said Nigel, with a great air of mystery. "Bertrand St. Just is——"The rest of the sentence was meant for Janet's ear alone."Impossible!" Janet cried."No, quite true. So you won't frown on him, will you? I know very well that he is coming to see you soon. Be nice to him, Janet, for my sake, if not for his own."And for some reason or other Janet's lips curved amusedly, and she broke into a happy laugh.CHAPTER XXIIIANNABEL'S DISCOVERIESLADY MARY might smile graciously upon Walter's young brothers and sisters, but Fenella did nothing of the kind. She always maintained that she hated children, especially children in the hobbledehoy state, like Annabel and the two younger boys, not to speak of Guy; and as for a small and rather dense young person like Dora, she regarded her with positive animosity. It must be confessed that they did not quite know how to treat their prospective sister-in-law. Their own elder sister had allowed them the free run of her room, of her drawers and boxes, her shelves and cupboards; and it was quite natural to them to think that Fenella's goods and chattels might be overhauled in the same manner. Jack went into her boudoir for string one day; Annabel attacked her work-basket for needles; and when Fenella found what they had done, she was more furious than the merits of the case seemed to justify. She would not have meddling boys and girls in her room, she said. She absolutely forbade them to enter her boudoir again; and she stormed at them until they shrank back aghast."I did not know grown-up people ever got into such passions," Jack said afterwards, as he and the rest of the party walked home in subdued silence."I am very sorry she is going to marry Walter," said Annabel. Then, in a musing tone, "I wonder whether she'll tell him about to-day? I am sure it was nothing very dreadful; I only wanted a needle, and I took one from her work-basket. We should have done so if it had been Janet's room.""Sisters-in-law aren't like sisters. Come on, let's go and tell Janet all about it. Then if Fenella poisons Walter's mind, she will know what to say."They poured their story into Janet's ear, and were rather disconcerted at finding that she took a somewhat grave view of their delinquences. They must never go to other people's drawers and cupboards and baskets, unless they had special permission to do so. It was a wrong and dangerous thing to do. "I," said Janet persistently, "have been very remiss; I have always let you have your own way about these things, and have left all my drawers and boxes open to you; now I see how foolish it was. But I did think, Annabel, that you had more sense than to behave to Fenella as unceremoniously as you do to your own sisters."She promised to excuse them as much as possible to Walter, who would probably hear (said Annabel) "a garbled version" of what had happened; and it was just as well that she was able to intervene, for Walter came in much incensed, especially against Jack, for his impertinence, and talked in rather an unusual strain about a thrashing if he did not behave himself. Jack turned first red and then white, and looked at Janet for consolation."You must forgive him this time. It's all my fault, Walter, for letting them turn my places upside down; they didn't mean any harm.""It was a very ungentlemanly thing to do," said Walter sharply, "to pry into a lady's work-box or table-drawer—I'm surprised at you, Jack. However, I hope you will never do such a thing again.""I really didn't do any harm," said Jack, rather sulkily, as Walter walked away. "I didn't break anything or spoil anything.""It isn't only that," said Janet. "You run the danger of seeing something that a person does not want you to see—a letter, perhaps, or a photograph.""Do you think Fenella had something she did not want us to see?" said Annabel, her blue eyes glittering mischievously."No, of course not. I was only thinking of what might happen—to me, or anybody. I might not want you to see all my letters, you know.""Especially now," said Jack, recovering his good temper. "I suppose Fenella keeps Walter's letters as precious treasures, too. What queer things girls are!"He went out, and Annabel slipped after him, just as Janet was beginning to think that perhaps she ought to give her a personal lecture also on the respect due to other people's belongings. Annabel was always a little difficult to manage, and Janet sometimes felt that it would be a relief to know that she was safe at a good school.But even Janet did not suspect the depths of malice and mischief which existed in Annabel's mind. The girl was very much offended by the scolding that she had received; and she blamed Fenella, who had betrayed her to Walter and spoken so angrily to herself. Janet's innocent words had put a new aspect on the affair. Evidently, Fenella had something to hide, and had been angry because she suspected the children of having discovered it. What could it be?"I should just like to find out," said Annabel. "I should soon see what it was that she was keeping so carefully: letters, perhaps, from somebody before Walter, or a likeness or something. It would be very easy to go and look when she is out to-morrow riding with Walter. I could run upstairs without being seen, and get into her room while the servants were at tea. It would be great fun.Her conscience misgave her, telling her that she was about to behave dishonourably; but Annabel closed her ears to the warning voice. She was resolved to ransack Fenella's room for herself and discover the secrets that she was sure were kept in Fenella's secret drawers and closed boxes. Not that Annabel intended to open any of them by force; she only meant to look round the room to satisfy the curiosity which Janet's words had excited. And her plan was particularly easy to carry out.Fenella and Walter were riding. They would probably not be home until late. About four o'clock Annabel made her way to the Dower House and ran lightly up the back stairs, for by this time she knew almost every nook and corner of the house. She felt that she was very wicked, and that Janet—if she knew—would never trust her again; but then she did not intend Janet to know, and she was inclined to think that she was punishing Fenella for her bad temper. She glided quietly into Miss Rosedale's bedroom; it was already prepared for the evening, and a soft, pretty dressing-gown was hung over the back of a chair near the fire. Then Annabel, with eyes and ears on the alert, began her investigations, which were really of a very simple character. She looked hastily into Fenella's chest-of-drawers, examined some queer manuscripts in the Professor's handwriting, looked through a smart glove-box or two, and found—nothing. She was distinctly disappointed at the result.After meditating for a few minutes she went into the dressing-room or boudoir, where there were many more places for research. But Annabel's attempts to discover Fenella's secrets were in vain. Possibly Fenella had not any secrets, after all. Annabel screwed up her face and made a grimace at herself in the mirror, and then she saw that a small cupboard above the mantelpiece was standing half-open, and that she had not examined its contents.She stood on tiptoe and gazed at the two shelves which it contained. On the lower one stood a doll—or so Annabel imagined it to be—a wax figure, which represented roughly the shape of a man. It was placed on a sliding shelf, which, as Annabel saw, would partially overhang the hearth, so that the heat of the fire might reach it and gradually penetrate every part. Already the lower limbs seemed to be wasting away. On the upper shelf Annabel found a more ordinary doll, stuffed with sawdust and dressed in a rather prettily planned costume of grey and white—"like Janet's," Annabel said to herself. And, curiously enough, this figure was pierced through and through with pins and needles and sharp-pointed penknife blades, so that almost every part of the doll was slashed and riven by the sharp points.Annabel had not the faintest idea what these things meant; but it suddenly flashed upon her that she had indeed found what Fenella meant nobody to see. She was very much tempted to take the doll with the pins and needles and knives away with her; but she was afraid that it might be called stealing, and she was not sure whether she had been seen entering the house or not. No, she felt she must leave these curiosities behind, but she gazed at them as though fascinated, and wondered what use Fenella could make of dolls like these.She had forgotten to listen or to watch the door. Suddenly there was a step in the bedroom, and Annabel realised that she was caught. She did her best to escape notice by throwing herself down on the floor and trying to crawl unseen to the dressing-room door; but she was too late for this. Fenella, who had come home unexpectedly, had not only seen her, but had grasped the fact that Annabel had been examining the two figures; for she burst into the boudoir in a perfect storm of rage, and brought her riding-whip down furiously upon Annabel's shrinking shoulders.Annabel shrieked, of course; and the servants rushed to the rescue, but they found some difficulty in persuading Fenella to be calm. Fortunately Walter had already left the house, and Nigel was out. Lady Mary sent an agitated message to know the reason of those frightful screams, and was told by a careful maid that Miss Annabel had fallen downstairs and had been frightened by her fall. And, in fact, Annabel was extremely frightened, for she foresaw all sorts of penalties hanging over her if it were known what she had done.But Fenella suddenly grew quiet, and stood looking at her with a baleful glare. The maid was holding Annabel by the shoulder, and the girl was shaking with repressed sobs."Let me go," she said. "Why can't you let me go? You can tell Walter what you like. I wasn't doing any harm.""You can go in a moment or two," said Fenella icily. "Leave her, Bartlett; she will stay quietly where she is until I have spoken to her. Now, Annabel Urquhart, you little viper, tell me what you came here for?""I had no particular reason. I wanted to look round.""What did you want to find?""Nothing," said Annabel, rather eagerly. "I had no particular idea in my mind. I just wanted to see—if I could—why you did not like us coming into your bedroom and dressing-room, and ransacking your things. Janet always lets us do it. I thought there was something interesting, perhaps, which you didn't want us to see.""So you came to find out. Honourable conduct! What will Walter say to it, do you suppose?""I dare say he'll send me to school," said Annabel, composedly. "But he won't whack me with a riding-whip," she added.Fenella drew her brows together, and kept silence for a moment. Then she seemed to notice that the doors of the little cupboard were standing wide open, and she closed and locked them decisively. Then she looked at Annabel, with a new sort of speculation in her eyes."Can you keep your word if you give it?" she asked."Of course I can.""I don't know that I think it is a matter of course. Will you make a bargain with me, and keep to it?""You want me," said Annabel, "to promise not to mention those dolls of yours to anyone.""You are rather clever," Fenella said, coldly. "Yes, they are part of a childish game, and I do not want it known that I play it. If you will not say a word about them, nor about my—my striking you, I will not tell Walter, or Janet, or Nigel what you have been doing this afternoon.""Why shouldn't I tell them?" Annabel enquired.Fenella's eyes grew bright."Because I don't choose that you should. They are my secret, my private amusement. I don't want them talked about.""What Janet said was true then," said Annabel; "she said people did not like their rooms looked over and examined by strangers, for fear the strangers should discover people's secrets.""Did Janet say that?" said Fenella, recoiling for a moment."Something like that.""Did she think I had secrets?""I don't know. It was I who thought that.""So you came to find out. You're a nice child! I shall be very sorry to have you in my house when I am married to Walter.""I would rather be at school," said Annabel stoically."Well, you have my offer," said Fenella, after a pause. "I will not tell Walter or anyone if you will promise to keep my secret—such as it is. A very little one, certainly; but I don't want to be considered an idiot who plays with dolls.""Why are there pins and needles sticking into the grey-and-white one?""It's a pin-cushion, of course," said Fenella, with a smile."Oh! And the penknives?""That is part of the game; you see how many times you can hit the figure. There, you see there is nothing much to tell. Will you promise not to talk about it?""I promise," said Annabel, with a generous air of not being obliged to do so. "And you will say nothing to Walter?""Not a word.""Very well. Then may I go?""Yes—and don't come back again.""No, I won't." Then she added, awkwardly, "I shouldn't have done any harm: it was only that I wanted to see what you had got.""Isn't that any harm?" said Fenella bitterly, turning her back upon the girl; and, very much relieved in mind, Annabel sped her way. She was rather sorry that she could not confess her naughtiness to Janet; but, after all, Janet would only have scolded her, so where was the use? At present Annabel's conscience was decidedly undeveloped.CHAPTER XXIVTHE LOVE-PHILTRE"I MUST see you," said Fenella, a few hours later, as she opened the door of the Professor's little sitting-room and stood before him in all the glory of a gorgeous evening dress. She had thrown a fur cloak round her shoulders, but the white satin and rich lace were easily distinguishable as she loosened the silver clasp."Fenella, what imprudence is this!" gasped the Professor. "If anybody saw you come at this hour of the night, you would be left without a shred of character, I can assure you.""Don't trouble yourself, I always have a sufficient excuse," said Fenella, with a smile. "My maid is downstairs. I told her I would come up and see you, in order to get a new supply of medicine for Aunt Mary's heart. The bottle is quite empty, you see.""Why, I filled it only two days ago," murmured the Professor."Quite so," said Fenella, who had just emptied the mixture into the garden, in order to give her an excuse for seeing the doctor, "but she must have used a great deal. It takes you a few minutes to compound, does it not? Then I can sit and talk to you a little, while you work. Wait a moment, I'll speak to Bartlett."She went to the top of the stairs, for the Professor's sitting-room was on the first floor, and spoke in a clear, distinct voice:"Bartlett! The doctor says he will be about five minutes mixing the medicine. If you sit down in the kitchen, I'll let you know when I'm ready to go; Lady Mary wants her medicine so very badly to-night.""Miss Fenella, she's no so black as she's painted?" said the woman of the house to Bartlett, who at once bristled up in defence of her young mistress. "Some fowk said she was gey ill to bide with; but she'll hae an affection for her auld auntie, maybe?""She is very fond of my lady," said Bartlett, pompously; "as is proved by her rushing out to-night to get the medicine from the doctor as soon as ever our visitors were gone. I offered to go myself, but 'no, Bartlett,' she said, 'the doctor would perhaps not take the trouble to make it up to-night if only you went: I shall ask him as a special favour to do it for me.'"Meanwhile, Fenella, seated at a little table, watched the Professor keenly while he made up the draught for Lady Mary. "I could almost do it myself, I have seen you make it so often," she said."I hope you will never try. You might use the many drugs with fatal results.""I have something to tell you. That was why I came to-night.""I thought as much.""Do you know what I have heard?""How can I know?""That Nigel is engaged to Janet Urquhart."The Professor put down his phials and turned to look at her. She was deadly white, and the white satin of her dress made her look almost ghastly now that the fur cloak had slipped from her shoulders."Is it possible? So soon! I never thought of that possibility.""And all you showed me to do has failed.""What did I show you?" said the Professor, after a moment's pause."I tried the waxen figure—it was Walter, of course, and it has been wasting beautifully; but Walter, you know—well, he is perfectly strong; he does not waste. And Janet—I have her very simulacrum, and a dress made out of a piece of her own grey stuff; and I have pierced it through and through with needles, and there is no result.""Such childishness!" said the Professor, with a little smile.There was a silence, and then Fenella spoke in a dragging tone."Is there no way?""H'm—none that we can practise in these days. Those old superstitions about the wax figure and the pin-pricks—they have died out. If there ever was any strength in the charm it has disappeared.""Can't you make something?" said Fenella, in a whisper. "Can't you get something out of your books?—something that would make him love me!""Walter?" said the Professor, purposely misunderstanding her."No, not Walter. Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, whom I love! You promised me that he should be mine if I took Walter first.""But I did not count on his falling in love with someone else," said Dr. Chilworth dryly. "I spoke according to the probabilities. At one time Nigel was devoted to you. Why did you not keep him then?""Because you would not let me," said Fenella, doggedly. "Now, I call on you to help me. Do something. Can you not find some old love-philtre that I could give to Nigel, so that when he saw me he might love me once again?""Foolish girl! You have read about these things until they have turned your brain. No, I cannot give you a love-potion, it would be too absurd.""But you have plenty—plenty—in your books. I have read some of them. Why not make one and try. It would not hurt anyone, and you say yourself that there are unknown forces of Nature which the ancients used to know of which we never trouble to use; may not these philtres be amongst them?""It is a foolish idea, Fenella," said the doctor, more mildly, "but if it would give you any pleasure I would not mind compounding one of the draughts for you. It is simple enough, but it strikes me that it will taste very bitter. However, if you insist on it I'll make it, and you shall administer it to whomsoever you will.""Oh, you are good!" panted Fenella, with her face between her hands. Then, in a broken voice, she continued: "I sometimes think I must throw the whole thing up: I cannot go on with it.""You will throw it up at your peril," said the Professor, sternly. "If you are careless about your future, I am not. I mean to have an assured income before long, and it is you who will have to provide it.""Walter will never give me money for you.""What does that matter? You will ask for it for your dress, for your poor people, for your relatives. I don't think you will ever find much difficulty in getting money out of Walter. He is generous, even if he is weak.""I wish he were dead!" cried Fenella, savagely."Let him marry you first, my dear; then we can think about his decease," said the Professor dryly. "Now, here is Lady Mary's medicine, though why you came for it at this time I cannot imagine.""I wanted to tell you about—Nigel; and to ask you for the love-philtre.""Love-philtre! Pooh!""You promised to give me one!""Well, well, to-morrow, you little tigress; but it will not have the slightest effect."But Fenella did not quite believe him. She was impregnated with superstition—permeated through and through with all kinds of popular beliefs about charms and spells and potions; she firmly believed that Professor Chilworth could restore Nigel's love to her, if only he would take the trouble to follow the directions in his book. And when at last she crept away from his room, with the bottle of medicine in her hand, she had at least the satisfaction of knowing that he had promised her a decoction which should follow the best mediaeval recipe in his possession, and that she might try it upon anyone she chose.On the following day, accordingly, she pursued him to his laboratory, and received from him a precious phial, filled with a crimson liquid, distinctly alluring in appearance. "You must get him to put it in a glass of wine," said the Professor, with rather a sinister glance, "and then let him sip it slowly. It is not very nice; you must tell him any lie you please in order to make him drink it. Say it is a new tonic that you are ordered to take, and that you want him to try it first; he would never be so ungallant as to say no.""Must I show him the draught at all?" said Fenella. "Can I not simply pour it into a glass of wine and give it to him?""You can try. But he may find it so particularly nasty that he will want to know what it is made of. I should say quinine, if I were you. It is just about as bitter as quinine."So, after dinner that evening, Fenella poured her crimson draught surreptitiously into a glass of port wine, and took it to Nigel in the library, where he was doing some work for Lord Oranmore. He looked up in surprise as she came into the room."Why, Fenella, what have you there?""Dear Nigel, you looked so pale and tired at dinner time; I've brought you a glass of wine to do you good.""I don't want it, my dear, thank you.""You might take it—to please me. Besides, I have put a tiny drop of quinine tonic into it," said Fenella. "It is what I take myself when I am very tired, and I am sure it would do you good.""I don't in the least require it, but to please you I'll drink it," he said, with a smile. He held the glass to his lips, tasted the wine, and frowned a little."Why, Fenella, your quinine must be very strong! It is bitterer than any quinine I ever tasted before.""It will do you all the more good, Nigel," said Fenella softly. "Do drink it all."He laughed and swallowed a mouthful or two. "Well, that's queer stuff. I don't desire much more of it. Is that one of the Professor's prescriptions? I always understood that he made rather pleasant mixtures as a rule? This—ugh!—is atrocious."He emptied the glass to the last drop, however, and smiled at Fenella's gratified face."And now," she said, "may I sit in this big chair by the fire, Nigel, and read a little to myself? I won't talk; I won't disturb you; I only want to sit here quietly; it is so lonely when Aunt Mary has gone to bed.""Poor little thing! I dare say it is. Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Your drugs are not very pleasant, Fenella; this one has made me feel rather sick.""That's very unromantic," said Fenella, laughing nervously. "But I think that feeling soon wears off."She took up a book and began to read, then observed Nigel surreptitiously, and wondered how soon the potion would take effect. In spite of all that Professor Chilworth had said to her, she had a profound faith in his love-philtre. But surely in half-an-hour or an hour some sign ought to make itself manifest. The only one she saw was that Nigel began to yawn prodigiously."I've not been so sleepy for weeks," he said. "I wonder what was in your stuff, Fenella. I don't altogether like it.""How do you feel?" she said anxiously, leaning over the side of her chair and looking at him. "Are you dizzy at all?""Yes, I am a little.""And don't you want to come here by the fire? See, I'll give you this chair if you'll come. Sit here quietly, and let me stroke your head.""Hypnotise me? No thank you, dear. Janet would never forgive me.""Janet! Janet!——" Then the inevitable question escaped her lips. "Do you still care for Janet?""Care for Janet, child? What are you thinking of? Of course I shall care for Janet, my dear Fenella, all my life.""No," she said positively; "you may think you will, Nigel, but you won't care for her so very much longer. Perhaps I ought not to tell you so; but it is just to let you know the truth.""Fenella, what do you mean?""It was not medicine I gave you," she said, hanging her head. "It was something out of an old book—I persuaded the Professor to make it for me: it was what they call a—a—love-philtre.""Gracious heavens!" Nigel exclaimed. "Eye of newt, and tongue of dog"—was it that sort of thing? No wonder I was beginning to feel ill.""No, there is nothing horrible in it. I only wanted you to take it, so as to bring you back—to me.""Back to you, child? But what do you mean? You are promised to Walter, and Janet to me: what could you do with me if I came back to to you, as you phrase it? It surely would give you no pleasure to see me at your feet!""Oh yes, Nigel," said the girl. She had crossed the room, and was now kneeling on a footstool before him; her wonderful eyes searched his face anxiously. "Don't you understand? You are the chief person on earth to me. I would send Walter away for your sake directly if you said you cared for me. Don't be angry. I can't help it. I always did love you more than all the world beside."Nigel gazed at her as though he found it difficult to believe his ears. He would never have believed it possible that a woman of his own position, of his own family, should offer herself to him with so little circumlocution, so much directness; and the revelation made him exceedingly uncomfortable."My dear Fenella," he said at last. "You are speaking wildly. I shall think that some drug, or some wine, that you have taken has affected your brain, if you talk in this way. I am no nearer loving you, my dear child, than I was an hour ago; but I am very fond of you as a cousin, and willing always to be your friend. But I must ask you not to talk such a farrago of nonsense as all this about love-philtres and potions; and I shall certainly tell Professor Chilworth what I think of him for ministering to your folly. Now, my dear, put away your book and go to bed. If I feel any change in my sentiments towards Janet by to-morrow morning, I will let you know."He dismissed her with gently bantering words; but Fenella departed sobbing, and cried herself to sleep. And it was on record afterwards that Mr. Erskine had a very bad bilious attack that night, partly induced by a lively imagination of what that love-potion might contain, and partly, no doubt, from its peculiarly drastic ingredients. But he found in the morning that his love for Janet remained quite unchanged.CHAPTER XXVPATRICIA'S DOUBTSPATRICIA felt herself out in the cold. Janet was occupied very much with Nigel, Walter was devoted to Fenella. It seemed to Patricia as if she had no one "to play with," as she said to herself, and so she set out one day to visit Virginia Craven, feeling sure of pleasant company and a dash of sympathy such as she seemed to require.For once she went alone. She did not know what had become of the children, and she rather preferred her own company to their everlasting chatter. She passed through the Park and along the highroad, until she reached the narrow, grassy lane, between two fir plantations, which formed part of the entrance to the Priory. And here she became aware that a tall young man, whose face and figure were familiar to her was advancing in an opposite direction; and that he was apparently leaving the Priory just as she advanced towards it.They met face to face; then, quite involuntarily, as it seemed, they both stopped short."Mr. St. Just!""Miss Urquhart! Is it really you'?""My brothers have seen you," said Patricia, thinking that he need not seem so surprised at encountering her. They told me they had been speaking to you—Jack had, at least.""Yes, Jack and I had quite a long conversation at the Priory.""Do you go often to the Priory?""Fairly often.""To give lessons?" Patricia enquired faintly."No, not to give lessons." Then in a quaint, commonplace tone: "I don't give lessons now.""Indeed!""No. I have enough to live upon without teaching. So I am afraid I am becoming a very idle fellow."Patricia did not smile. She was indeed supernaturally grave. It seemed as though she could never smile again. She was oppressed by a remembrance of the last time they met. Mr. St. Just seemed to remember it also."Miss Urquhart," he said in low, earnest tones, believe me, I never regretted anything so much as my having had the misfortune to displease you when I saw you last. Would you not now forgive me? We seem likely to be rather near neighbours, and I should not like to feel I had a quarrel with any of your family.""Please don't mention it. I dare say I was very lonely and stupid," Patricia said, with down-bent head."Will you shake hands, then, in sign of our renewed amity?""Certainly."The two hands met very cordially; Patricia received a reassuring grip which gave her a curious kind of confidence in her acquaintance. Nothing reveals character more than the way a person shakes hands."Then do you live near us?" said Patricia, when the two hands had dropped apart again."Very fairly near. At a house called Belmont. May I walk a little way with you?""Oh, I thought that was Lord Oranmore's house.""So it is," remarked Mr. St. Just soberly. "I was a cousin to the late lord.""Oh, I see. You never told us anything about yourself at Waltham.""There was nothing interesting to tell.""I am sure Mrs. Marston and her friends would have been delighted to know that you were Lord Oranmore's cousin.""Ah, but it didn't suit my book to tell them," he said, laughing a little. "I wanted to be received on my merits.""I am afraid that never answers," said the girl pensively."I am afraid it doesn't. It didn't in my case, did it? You and your sister would have nothing to do with me when you did not know where I came from nor who were my friends.""I did not treat you like that," said Patricia, with some little displeasure in her tone."No. I beg your pardon, you did not. I am a cross-grained fellow to speak of it.""You were hurt," said Patricia quickly."Well, perhaps a little hurt. I wanted, as I said, to be accepted on my own merits.""You were taken as an organist on your own merits. Surely that ought to have been enough for you," said Patricia, beginning to laugh."And have you been keeping up your organplaying, Miss Urquhart?""No. We have not been near enough to any organ that I could practise on.""There is a beautiful one at Belmont; would you mind going so far?""I can't very well, as I don't know Lord Oranmore.""Couldn't I introduce you?""I'm afraid not. And here we are at the door. Are you coming in again, Mr. St. Just?""No, I think not, thank you. I called this afternoon—to see Sir Peter on business."They said good-bye rather lingeringly; Patricia was never in a hurry, and Mr. St. Just's manner fitted in exactly with her natural bearing. But she looked wonderfully cheerful when she met Virginia."Mr. St. Just piloted me up to the door," said Patricia at once. "He said he had been to call, so he would not come back again. I was sorry I could not persuade him.""He was not likely to call twice in one afternoon," said Miss Craven, laughing. Patricia thought that she looked particularly amused."Have you known him long?""Bertrand?" said Miss Craven, with the touch of laughter in her eyes which puzzled Patricia not a little. "Yes, for a good many years—since he was a boy.""How stupid we must have been!" sighed the girl. "Janet wouldn't believe he was a gentleman.""Really! And he has such very charming manners.""Charming!" echoed Patricia, with a sigh."And is so very good-looking!——""—One of the handsomest menIever saw——""That I should have thought your sister would have been attracted, and her prejudices disarmed.""She was not nice to him at all. I don't suppose he will be nice to us, either. People don't like being snubbed.""I don't think Mr. St. Just will bear malice in that way. I think you will find him placable. Did I not hear that he gave you some organ lessons once?""Yes. I enjoyed them so much—I have had none since. Mr. St. Just proposed that I should go and practise at Belmont, where they have a large organ, he says; but I suppose I could hardly do that by myself.""No," said Virginia, musingly; "but you might go with someone else. With me, for instance, because I have known the Oranmore's so long.""Do you think you could spare time?" said Patricia rapturously."I'm sure I could. Shall we go to-morrow—or the next day, that would be better? It would be very nice for you to see Belmont, it is quite a show-place.""Is it very grand?""Oh, it's a stately old place. But it is not cold or stiff: I don't know a house with so many little nooks and corners. It will be a delightful expedition, and you must tell your sister that I dare say we shall not see Lord Oranmore, and that at any rate I will take very great care of you.""It is most kind of you," said Patricia. And when she disclosed the plan to Janet, Janet could not do less than re-echo the words. "It was very kind of Miss Craven," everybody said.So they drove to Belmont, and Patricia enjoyed herself immensely. She walked all over the house. Then the organ in the main gallery was opened for her and she played, very carefully, all the organ studies which Mr. St. Just had given her to learn. She had barely finished when Mr. St. Just himself appeared, and said,"Bravo, you have improved tremendously."Patricia's hands dropped to her lap. "Ican'thave improved," she said indignantly, "for I have not touched an organ since I had lessons at Waltham.""Don't we grow in the night? We improve unconsciously. Your mind has grown, if I may say so; therefore you play better. I can't imagine a better compliment.""Play something for us, won't you?" said Patricia, a little shyly. "I should like so much to hear you again.""Very well. I'll play a triumphal march. I feel rather triumphant.""Why?" said Patricia."Oh, I don't know. Perhaps at having got you here. I feel it quite a triumph."He laughed mischievously, and broke into a great jubilant march, such as seemed to suggest the very crowning point of happiness. Virginia, who had been quietly reading, put down her book to listen, and called out her congratulations across the gallery when he had finished."That is splendid, Lord Or—I mean—Mr. St. Just. Thank you, so much.""What an awkward slip for Miss Craven to make! " said Patricia to herself, feeling a little shocked. "And she does not look at all abashed. I suppose this Mr. St. Just—surely he can't be the heir? Oh, how funny it will be to tell the Marstons and the people at Little Waltham if he is really the heir. 'A possible marquis! And we might all have made friends with him'—entertaining angels unawares. I am glad I was not quite so nasty to him as some of the people were."Her reflections were interrupted by the announcement of luncheon. She had not quite understood that they were to stay, and she wondered whether Lord Oranmore would appear, and be amazed at this sudden irruption of strangers. But, of course, he knew Virginia! she said to herself. No Lord Oranmore appeared, however, to disturb the tranquillity of the meal, of which Mr. St. Just did the honours; and a very recherché little meal it was. Patricia was neither gourmet nor gourmand, but she could not help thinking that it would be exceedingly nice to have achefafter the pattern of Lord Oranmore's. After lunch Bertrand St. Just showed his guests the picture gallery, and gave them a lively account of the portraits therein contained. There was one which Patricia mistook for a portrait of himself until she saw that "The Marquis of Oranmore" was on the frame. But it was exactly the face and figure of Bertrand St. Just."My cousin and I were very much alike," said the young man, observing the direction of Patricia's eyes. "Don't you think so, Miss Craven?""I do, indeed," she said, with a laugh at which Patricia rather wondered. "Such a remarkable likeness was never, I should think, observed before.""I should not like to be precisely like another person," Patricia said."Oh, but we are proud of it," said Bertram. "Just look at the family nose that we have all cultivated; look at the expression. All the St. Justs are exactly alike; there isn't a bit of individuality in us.""You must cultivate it," said Virginia."I will when I can find any. I want somebody to help me," said Mr. St. Just whimsically. "I don't seem able to make anybody understand me properly. Perhaps I am one of the Great Inarticulate, of whom we sometimes read.""Hardly," said Miss Craven."That is unkind. I did not look for such cutting remarks from you, Virginia. Miss Urquhart, let us leave her and go out into the gardens; or, on second thoughts, she can come too if she promises to behave.""I shall sit on your delightful terrace, and you can show Patricia the gardens," said Miss Craven. "You know I have seen them before."So she was established in a comfortable chair, while Bertram and Patricia drifted away to the flower-beds and the hothouses."So he has met his fate at last," Virginia soliloquised. "I thought he never would make up his mind; but I think there is no doubt of it now. I never saw him look at anyone as he looks at Patricia. And how innocent she is! how little she suspects! I am afraid there is rather a great shock in store for her."She watched them re-appearing in company with one of the gardeners. Bertrand was evidently issuing orders about flowers, and when Patricia again reached the terrace her hands were full of the latest hothouse variety of orchid and chrysanthemum. And when the carriage drove up there were two baskets of choice blossoms—one for Virginia and one for her friend—handed in by the solemn gardener; and Patricia's face was never prettier than when she thanked Mr. St. Just for his gift."And I hope you are going to call on us?" she said, rather timidly. "My sister told me to be sure to tell you so.""Thank you very much. I will come on the first opportunity," said Mr. St. Just, in rather a stately manner. And then the carriage moved on, and the two girls soon lost sight of the beautiful house of Belmont."What a lovely place it is!" sighed Virginia. "But it wants a woman's hand. Don't you think so? It wants flowers and a more inhabited, kindly look. When Lord Oranmore gets married there will be a great change.""Will Mr. St. Just go on living at Belmont if Lord Oranmore marries?""I believe so.""Won't it be rather an awkward position for him?""No, I don't think so. But you must wait until you see Lord Oranmore for yourself, and then you can judge better of the circumstances," said Virginia, hastily.CHAPTER XXVILORD ORANMOREPATRICIA noticed that Janet's prejudices against Mr. St. Just were very speedily dissipated—in fact that they seemed no longer to exist. She explained this by saying that Nigel had spoken to her very highly of him, and that she had no reason now for suspecting him of being an adventurer."Why do you laugh, Janet? "her younger sister said, in puzzled tones."I was only thinking of our mistake about him," said Janet; but she looked so merry, and so much amused, that Patricia thought there must be some other reason for her mirth. She was glad to see, however, that Bertrand St. Just was received with civility; and, although he did not come to the house so very often, it seemed to her that she was always meeting him in her walks about the country lanes. Especially when she went to Virginia's, she found that he was always liable to turn up. He seemed on very intimate terms, she noticed, with Virginia."Lord Oranmore seems to stay away continually," Patricia observed one day, as she and Miss Craven sat together in the little morning-room—an apartment which Virginia had lately patronised a good deal."He is a good deal away from home," said Virginia, with a neutral air."Do you like him, Virginia?""Very much.""As much as you like Mr. St. Just?""Yes, quite as much.""Really!" said Patricia, in a tone of surprise. "Well, I should not have imagined that anybody could be quite as nice as Mr. St. Just." Whereat Miss Craven smiled; and when she next had an opportunity of speaking to Bertrand, she began to remonstrate with him very seriously."I want to tell you," she said, "that I think it is high time you dropped this masquerade.""What masquerade?" he asked, putting on an appearance of innocence."You know very well. I suppose the Urquharts are all victims to your love of—drama?""Not all of them. Miss Urquhart knows the truth; so does her brother. But it is so amusing to keep Patricia a little in the dark.""Does she allow you to call her Patricia?""I apologise. I never asked her. But I always call her Patricia in my mind, just as I call you Virginia. I hope you don't object.""It is a different thing. I have known you nearly all my life, and I know, too, how fond you are of a little fantastic romance. But—if you are at all in earnest about Patricia—I think you are running a very considerable danger.""I think she will forgive me.""I think she is very sensitive, and she may find it hard to understand why you should have deceived her."St. Just's dark eyes danced with amusement. "How deliciously serious you are!" he said. "Do you really think that she will drop my acquaintance when she finds I am not what I seem?""I think you are running risks. Nobody likes being made a fool of.""I don't mean to make a fool of her, poor little girl! But you know what I am like, Virginia: I always enjoyed a bit of mystification. However, I promise you it shall soon come to an end.""How soon?""Within a fortnight. You need not be afraid. I am always desperately scared lest somebody should give me away. You think she likes me a little, do you not?""A little, perhaps. She is very fond of hearing you play.""Is that all you can say for my comfort?""Do you deserve any comfort?" Virginia asked severely. And St. Just went away chuckling, as if at the best joke in the world. "He is incorrigible," said Virgina to herself. "I sometimes think I will tell Patricia the truth, just to put an end to his mystifications. But I suppose it would be unwarrantable to do that, seeing that her elder brother and sister agree to her being kept in the dark. But oh, how angry I should be if I were she!"Meanwhile, Patricia had become rather excited at the prospect of a big charity ball, for which it was rumoured that Lord Oranmore had lent his house. She and Janet had received cards of invitation, and Walter had been placed on the committee of management. It was to be a very brilliant affair, and Patricia's only grief was that she did not think her dress quite smart enough for the occasion, although Janet had told her that it would do very nicely, and that simple white was the prettiest dress a girl could wear.But Walter had heard something of the discussion, and he was minded that his little sister should look as well dressed as anyone at the ball. So, after some argument with Janet, who thought him very extravagant, a new dress, all white chiffon and dew-drops, was ordered from London, and at the last moment Patricia found it spread out upon the white coverlet of her bed."For me! Oh, Janet!""It is Walter's present," said Janet. "He wanted you to look very nice to-night. No, child, you can't rush off to thank him now: he is dressing, and you have not much time yourself. Let me help you: I can dress you better than any maid."So she helped Patricia into the dainty garment, and fastened the pearls round her neck, and noted every detail of her dress to see that it was quite correct—fan and gloves and shoes—but even Patricia did not suspect the depth of the feeling with which she murmured a low-toned "Bless you, my darling!" when the ceremony was complete."Why, Janet, I believe there are tears in your eyes," said the girl, clinging to her sister for a moment."If there are, it is only because you look so sweet, darling," said Janet, who had grown much more effusive and affectionate in the days of her engagement."I suppose Lord Oranmore will be there," said Patricia, a few moments later."Yes, he will receive the guests.""I want to see him so much; they say Mr. St. Just is very like him.""Very like him indeed, I believe," said Janet. "And Mr. St. Just is a very nice man: if Lord Oranmore is like him in character, his friends and relatives ought to be thankful."Patricia made no answer, but a little colour crept into her cheeks. She looked extraordinarily pretty, for she was one of the women whom excitement and new interests in life always improve. With the sea-shell colour on her cheeks, and her dark eyes glowing like stars, there were few girls who were likely to outshine her. Even Fenella's dark beauty waned beside Patricia's girlish fairness.The house of Belmont was lit up from attic to basement; every window showed an illumination, and the chief walks of the garden, the fountains and flower-beds, were outlined with coloured lamps. When the guests left their carriages they trod on crimson cloth which had been laid down for them upon the broad flight of steps. Janet and Patricia left their wraps in a dressing-room, and then went forward to the broad landing where Lord Oranmore was receiving his guests."Miss Urquhart—Miss Patricia Urquhart—Mr. Urquhart," solemnly thundered one lackey after another through the hall and up the stairs. And then Patricia found herself shaking hands with Bertrand St. Just.""But isn't Lord Oranmore here?" she queried of Janet, when she had passed her host and was following her sister into one of the drawing-rooms."Yes, dearest."The tone was non-committal. But Patricia was not satisfied."I wonder he was not there to receive his guests.""I hope you like the plan of the illuminations," said a familiar voice behind her, and, looking round, she saw Betrand St. Just at her elbow."I like them very much; but—Mr. St. Just, I wanted so much to see Lord Oranmore, and he does not seem to be here. Is he coming?"She saw that Betrand exchanged a glance with Janet over her head. Then he offered her his arm."If you will come with me," he said, "I will make Lord Oranmore known to you.""There seems a mystery about him," said Patricia, with a little smile. He was leading her straight to one of the conservatories, at present quite deserted; and she wondered whether he expected to find Lord Oranmore there. The conservatory was full of green, fresh-looking ferns, amongst which a trickle of water fell pleasantly on the ear; at the end of it there was a great sheet of looking-glass in which Patricia saw herself and her companion reflected as they approached it."Now I can introduce Lord Oranmore," said Bertrand coolly.He looked at his own reflection and slightly waved his hand towards it, then turned to Patricia and bowed."I don't understand," said the girl, looking at him with a pale, terrified face. "What do you mean?""I am afraid you will think I have deceived you," said the young man penitently. "I hope you will not be very angry with me. Of course, the mistake was natural enough, but the fact is that Lord Oranmore had no cousin Bertrand, but is himself named Bertrand St. Just, and stands here—at your service.""Do you mean to say thatyouare Lord Oranmore?""I am afraid it is true.""And Virginia—she knew? She conspired with you—to deceive me?""Don't be so hard on us," said Oranmore persuasively. "I did not mean to keep up the deception—as you call it—for so long. But while it lasted—I found it pleasant to be called 'Mr. St. Just' for a little time.""I see what it was," said Patricia, looking down. "You were vexed—hurt—because of our unkindness to you at Waltham; and you thought you would revenge yourself—that is what has been your intention. Do you call it a manly thing to do—to make sport of a woman, and to show her to the world as a laughing-stock?""For Heaven's sake," said Lord Oranmore, "do not say such things, Patricia. Imake you a laughing-stock? I, who love you better than my life, from the very bottom of my soul? No, if there had been any complications; if I had seen that you were likely to be perplexed or laughed at for not knowing my title, I should have let you know at once. You must remember that Bertrand St. Just is my name after all. I have not deceived you in that.""It is very kind of you," said Patricia, with her little white chin in the air. "I am very much obliged to you for your consideration, Lord Oranmore. Perhaps you would now be so good as to take me back to my sister.""Not until you forgive me, Patricia!""I have nothing at all to forgive. As you say, you told me your real name. I can't complain of being turned into ridicule by you and—and—Virginia. I suppose you planned it all between you. I shall never—never—be able to believe in anyone again.""I cannot tell you how sorry I am," said Lord Oranmore earnestly. "It was not Virginia's fault; she warned me that I was making a mistake. But you won't be hard on me, will you, Patricia? It was only a stupid, boyish joke, after all. I never meant it to be kept up so long.""I don't think I ever gave you permission to call me Patricia," she said, in an icy tone. "I should like to go back to my sister, please, Lord Oranmore. You may be quite certain that I shall not forget your name and your title now."There was a touch of scorn in her tone, which cut Oranmore to the heart."Won't you hear me? Won't you try to forgive me?" he said."There is nothing to forgive.""Oh, that is hopeless! There is plenty to forgive; but I beg of you to be merciful and forgive me. Indeed, I did not mean to hurt you, Patricia. I would not hurt you for the world—I love you too well. And I brought you here to-night not only to hear my confession, but to ask you to share the title which I bear; to be my wife, my dear and honoured wife. Will you never be able to forget what I have done?""Never," said Patricia. And she turned her back upon him and walked out of the conservatory alone. In the corridor she met Nigel, and besought him to find Janet for her. Her pleasure in the ball was gone. For the remainder of the evening the time dragged heavilly, and she felt as if her feet were shod with lead.CHAPTER XXVIITHE PROFESSOR'S DISMISSALLADY MARY was very much surprised to receive a message from Fenella that she was not well, and did not wish to get up to breakfast that morning. Nigel was not quite so much surprised when he heard it. He thought it very probable that Fenella was consumed with remorse and shame, after what had happened on the previous evening, and he felt a sincere pity for the misguided girl, who had rashly exposed to him the state of her affections.In the abstract, and where any other woman was concerned, he would have considered Fenella's conduct inexcusable. But a man is never inclined to be hard on a woman who is in love with him, and Nigel could not help feeling sorry for the girl, and wished very sincerely that he had never even played at a little flirtation with her, as he had done before Janet and Walter came upon the scene. He had never gone very far: he had only said a few "pretty things" to her and shown a liking for her society; but as she was his cousin, and resident in the house, he did not think that these amenities amounted to very much. At any rate, he thought, of all the girls he knew there were few to whom he would not have talked in the same gay, half-chaffing manner in which he used to address Fenella, and especially as she was his cousin! Nigel had a fair number of kinsfolk in different parts of the country, and he knew very well that his younger cousins always treated him like a brother, and allowed him the same pleasant little familiarities which a brother would have used without question.And for Fenella to think that these trifling attentions had meant that he was in love in her! Why, the thing was almost inconceivable. "Fortunately," he mused, over his solitary breakfast, "nobody will be likely to say that sort of thing now that I am engaged to Janet. Upon my word, it makes one feel inclined to surround oneself with a hedge of bristly conventionalities. Poor little Fenella! I suppose she knew so little of the world that the slightest attention seemed to her of tremendous importance."He did not eat much breakfast, for the effects of Fenella's love-potion still lingered about him, producing a decided disinclination for food. He sipped a cup of strong coffee, and looked out of the window meditatively. "I am sorry for Walter," he said to himself. "But surely she will grow fond of him in time. He will make an excellent husband, if only he is not too indulgent. I suppose she will have the sense to keep to her engagement; it would be disastrous indeed if she broke it off. I hope she is not fretting about it, poor little woman! I must see what I can do to console her."But there was certainly nothing to do just then, for she was invisible, and did not respond to any message. So after sending up twice to enquire after her, Nigel went off to his days' work, finding time, however, in the middle of the day to send her a handful of lovely hothouse roses and a box of chocolates from a very superior confectioner's shop in the nearest town. He went to some trouble to procure these gifts, but he did not know that Fenella would resent them as insults, and toss the flowers into the fire, while she disdainfully presented the box of sweets to one of the maids. When Nigel came home at night he half expected to be met with a smile or a word of thanks, for he did not think that Fenella was the sort of girl who would have any special depth of feeling. And it seemed to him that a few kindly words, spoken in an elder-brotherly way, a present or two, and perhaps a little good-humoured laughter, ought to put things straight. But in this he had reckoned without his host, for when he returned in the evening Fenella was still indisposed; she had been downstairs in the middle of the day, he was informed, but she had said she did not want any dinner and had retired to her room. Nigel began to grow uneasy; it seemed as though the poor child was taking the matter too much to heart."What is wrong with her?" he said to his mother, as they sat together after dinner."Oh, nothing very much," said Lady Mary. "A little feverishmigraine. She will be better tomorrow, I dare say.""Did Walter come to-day?""Yes, he was here soon after tea, but she did not stay with him five minutes; she said that her head was too bad. I think, between ourselves, that Fenella is a little capricious, you know, and she likes to try Walter's patience a little bit.""Walter is one of the best-tempered fellows I know," said Nigel, "but I think that she might go too far even with him.""He seems very much in love with her," said Lady Mary, unemotionally, " but I sometimes wonder whether she is very fond of him.""She ought to be," said Nigel, rather vehemently. "What more can she expect? He is handsome, rich, and devotedly attached to her. I don't quite know what a woman wants more.""That is true," said Lady Mary. "But there was always something a little inexplicable about Fenella. The Professor says it is because she is endowed with what he calls 'the sixth sense.' He says that she is conscious of existences that we cannot see, and of essences beyond our control.""That sounds like the Professor, said Nigel, rather sardonically. "Dear mother, you don't mind my saying that I am always sorry when you quote the Professor."Lady Mary smiled kindly upon him, and shook her head. "You are rather prejudiced against the poor Professor," she said, "but he is a very clever man, and also a very clever doctor. He has a few little fads, which would always prevent him from getting a large practice, but he had a considerable reputation in Edinburgh, you will remember.""Oh, yes, I know that," said Nigel scornfully, "and I know how he chucked it away.""He lost his position, I understand," said Lady Mary, with dignity, "because he wished to treat a mental case with hypnotism, and the doctors were not sufficiently advanced to allow it to be done. He was said to be employing the methods of a quack and was guilty of unprofessional conduct, and the attacks upon him were so severe that he was at last obliged to leave the place.""Yes, that is part of the story," said Nigel. "I think there was more than that, mother. You are not so much attached to him as you were, are you? You won't be very angry if I tell you another fact or two?""Don't destroy my faith in my doctor, Nigel," said Lady Mary, smiling."Oh, he is a clever enough doctor," said Nigel; "it is only as a man that I should like you to see him in his true light. The patient of whom you were speaking was a young and beautiful woman with a large fortune, and he was endeavouring to make her promise to marry him while she was in one of these hypnotic states. It was supposed that he wished to possess himself of her money. However, he was turned out of the house, and the patient immediately got better, and is now a healthy married woman in Edinburgh, with five children.""When did you hear this, Nigel?" said Lady Mary, rather hurriedly. "I wish you had told me before. I don't think that I should have allowed Fenella to take lessons from him if I thought that he could behave in that manner to any girl—not that Fenella has any money to lure a man on; but if your story is true he is not so trustworthy as I thought.""There are other ways also of injuring a girl," said Nigel, "besides making love to her. I am sometimes afraid that he has obtained more power over her than I quite like to think of. I know he can throw her into a sort of trance by looking at her steadily for two or three minutes; and I have seen her rise and go out into the garden with him exactly as if she had been called; and I believe she has studied his books—I mean old, foolish books about magic and incantations of different sorts—a sure way with a girl of her temperament ultimately to upset the balance of her mind.""My dear Nigel," said Lady Mary, beginning to tremble a little, "you alarm me. I never thought of interfering with Fenella's pursuits, and it seemed to me that she was so safe with a learned—and I must say, an attractive—man of that age. I knew that he gave her lessons in Latin, for he asked my permission to do so, but I didn't know that anything more had come of it.""Personally," said Nigel, "I think that the sooner the Professor is banished from the neighbourhood the happier we shall all be. He is not of an amiable disposition, and he very much resents being turned out of his room at the Castle. Walter has allowed him to keep the use of the laboratory simply out of consideration for you; but if, mother, you can manage to do with another doctor, and can dispense with Professor Chilworth, there would be no pretext for his spending his time at the Castle. You see, when Fenella is married to Walter she will probably insist upon having the Professor back again, and I consider that his influence upon her is most distinctly unwholesome. There is this new man, of whom everybody is talking—Doctor Munsey. He is of the new school, perfectly well up in all the sciences of the day, and said to be extremely clever, and fresh from London and Paris. Would it not be better to call him in than to trust yourself any longer to the tender mercies of a charlatan like Chilworth.""I have grown used to the Professor," said Lady Mary, rather piteously. A tear or two ran down her pale ivory cheeks, and the white hands in her lap trembled over the handkerchief that they held. "But if you wish it, Nigel," she said, in a steadier voice, "and especially if it is for poor Fenella's good, I will make a change at once.""Dear mother, you were always good and brave," cried Nigel, not attempting to disguise the pleasure that he felt. He went round to her chair, put his arms round her neck, and kissed her gently on the forehead. "I am perfectly certain," he said earnestly, "that it would be much better for Fenella if the Professor were away."He did not want to tell his mother the story of the love-philtre, although he felt perfectly certain that it was from Professor Chilworth that Fenella had obtained it. It made him fiercely indignant to think that a man of the Professor's age and standing should thus condescend to tamper with the innocent mind of a young girl. For to make Fenella believe that a magic draught could ensure love, or that there was any kind of potency in spells, charms, and incantations seemed to Nigel an intellectual outrage. Ever since he had realised Fenella's infatuation for himself, and the nature of the draught which she had given him, he had blamed the Professor's influence over her, and resolved to bring it to an end. For who but the Professor could have produced in her such a belief in the occult properties of drugs? He went so far as to get his mother to write a note that very evening to the Professor stating that she had resolved to try a new treatment, and would therefore not trouble him to come to the Dower House any longer.Nigel knew that this announcement would be a serious blow to the Professor, but he had a strong conviction that justice and not mercy was needed in the case. Of course, he could not banish Dr. Chilworth from the neighbourhood; but he hoped that Walter would join with him in expelling the man from the precincts of the Castle; for he was quite convinced that the Professor's pretensions to occult powers were founded upon lies, and he dreaded the possibility of his establishing any sort of control over Janet and Patricia as he had done already over Fenella. The bond must be broken at once, he felt, if the two houses were to be at peace.Meanwhile Fenella refused to meet him. She sat in her own room and said she was too ill to go down; and when Dr. Munsey was introduced she gave him one startled glance and absolutely refused to say a single word. All that Dr. Munsey could do was to prescribe a soothing draught, and recommend perfect quiet and freedom."Miss Rosedale is in a very nervous state," he said to Lady Mary. "She is like a person who has been going through a great nervous strain.""But she has not had any nervous strain in particular," said Lady Mary, wonderingly. "She became engaged to Mr. Urquhart a little while ago; but you would hardly call that a nervous strain?——""No, perhaps not. An engagement does sometimes produce rather curious effects on the nerves. I will send her a soothing draught.""Ought she to remain upstairs?""The best thing for her will be to do exactly what she likes best," said Dr. Munsey, with a smile. "I would not try to restrain her in any way."Perhaps he would hardly have said this if he had known Fenella's habit of wandering at all hours: he took it for granted that she was bound by the ordinary conventional rules of modern maidenhood. That she should go to Professor Chilworth's house at night, or make any other unusual expeditions, never occurred to him.But for some little time Fenella did not seem inclined to leave her room. She lay all day on a couch with closed eyes and colourless cheeks, taking little notice of anything that was said to her, occupying herself in no way and trying to simulate sleep when anybody came into the room. She refused for some days to see either Nigel or Walter, and the door was kept rigorously closed against her women-friends. Professor Chilworth called once, but she was denied to him by Lady Mary's orders, and thus she lay uncomforted and alone.With some difficulty Lady Mary's wheeled chair was one day piloted to her room, and sitting in the chair, as on a throne, the old lady spoke to her young kinswoman. "Fenella, my dear," she said, "can you not tell me what is wrong with you? Do you feel very ill?"Ordinarily Fenella answered no questions. But Lady Mary was grave and venerable, and had been very kind to her. She spoke in a listless voice:"I don't know, Aunt Mary. I'm very tired, that's all.""Would you like to go to some other place for a change?""No," said the girl apathetically."There is nothing you would like, dear? We will do all in our power to satisfy you and make you happy. Think how Walter loves you; and you are keeping him away from you all this time and making him very miserable.""Is he miserable?" said Fenella. A faint, cruel smile curved her pale lips. "Well," she murmured, "I am miserable, too."But she spoke in a very low voice, and Lady Mary did not always hear quite distinctly."I should like to see Walter," Fenella said at last."That is right, dear. He will be pleased to come. You can lie down in the little morning-room; it is a very comfortable couch there, and you can wear a tea-gown. Shall I send him to you this afternoon?""Yes, please," said Fenella; and Lady Mary wondered why the girl turned away her head and sighed. It did not seem to her that Fenella was as happy in her engagement as she ought to be.CHAPTER XXVIIIA BROKEN ENGAGEMENTWALTER had called so often, and been so often repulsed, that he was delighted to find there was a chance at last of his seeing Fenella, if only, as Lady Mary said, for a short time. She cautioned him that Fenella was not well, and that the doctor said she was in a low, nervous state when any undue excitement would be injurious, and that he must, therefore, be very gentle with her. Walter almost laughed at this request: it seemed so absurd to him to suppose he could be anything but gentle to Fenella.But there was a look in Lady Mary's eyes which told him she was quite in earnest, and that she had some reason for saving what she did. A little chill, a fear, ran through Walter's veins as this conviction flashed upon him. Was Fenella going to say something that would hurt him? He could not believe that she did not love him, but he knew that girls were sometimes fanciful, and he thought that she might have some little peccadillo, some trifling act of inconsistency, to mention which would hurt her to confess and him to hear, and yet it would not be of such very great importance after all."She is not afraid of me, I hope?" he said to Lady Mary, with rather a reproachful smile."I am sure she is not," said Lady Mary, patting his strong hand with her delicate white fingers. "But I noticed she seems nervous when your name is mentioned, as though she had some reason for feeling a little afraid of you. I daresay it is only fancy on her part."As far as I am concerned it certainly is," said Walter. "I would do anything in the world to make her happy. You think I may go to her now?""Certainly. She is in the little morning-room; it is quieter than the drawing-room, so she thought she would like to see you there."A maid was summoned, and led Mr. Urquhart to the morning-room, where, as Lady Mary had said, Fenella was waiting for him. He had not seen her for more than a week, and he was at once struck by the change in her personal appearance, for she looked like a person who had had a severe illness. She was never anything but thin, but the flesh seemed to have fallen away, particularly from her face, leaving it small and pinched like a sick child's. Her eyelids were heavier, and there were deep shades beneath them. But when she opened her eyes and looked at Walter it seemed to him that there was an unconquerable vitality in their greenish flame. They were more lustrous than ever, and seemed to burn with the intensity of their gaze."My poor darling," said Walter, "you have been ill. Why did you not let me come and see you before?"He kissed her, and noticed that she shrank away a little from his caress and did not attempt to return it. He was resolved, however, not to notice anything that savoured of petulance or despondency, for he knew that Fenella was given to moods of both. So he sat down beside her, retaining her hot fingers in his hand, and trying to draw her into conversation about ordinary things. But in a few moments she snatched her hand away from him, and turned a little as though she wanted to avert her face."I didn't send for you to talk about the ball or silly things of that kind," she said."Why did you send for me, then, dear?" said Walter, bending over her.She moved uneasily. "Don't come so near," she said. "I don't want you to come so close to me; I feel as though I could not breathe."Walter drew himself up and moved his chair a little. He was a little surprised at Fenella's tone, which seemed to him more than impatient: he could almost have thought that it expressed positive aversion."I will sit where you like," he said pleasantly, "and do what you like. I only want to make you happy.""Is that true?" she said, with a sort of nervous flurry in her voice. "Do you really mean that you don't want me to be unhappy?""I really mean it," he said, smiling a little. It seemed to him an unnecessary question."Would you go so far," she said, "as to be unhappy yourself so that I might be happier?""Of course I would," said Walter, wonderingly. "I should think it an honour to sacrifice myself—if the word is allowable—in order to make you happier.""You are a curious man," she said, looking at him fixedly for a minute or two. "I don't think you are nearly so selfish as most men. But of course all men are selfish at heart, and I dare say when it comes to the point, I shall find you are nearly as selfish as any other.""Try me," he said quickly."Well, then," she said, with a sort of desperate effort, "I want you to release me from my engagement.""Fenella!"Walter rose from the chair, and leaned one hand on the back of it as he stood looking down upon her. She shrank a little, and covered her small face with her hands."I knew you would be selfish," she moaned. "I knew you would hold me to it, and of course if you do, Aunt Mary and Nigel will back you up, and I shall be forced to marry you whether I like it or not. But I will do anything rather than be forced to marry. I will commit suicide; I will run away from you all; I will give you no chance of seeing me again.""Fenella," said Walter, "you are talking wildly. What is it that distresses you so much, my dear? You seemed to care for me a little while ago: how is it that you cannot care for me now?""I never cared for you as you thought," said Fenella wildly. "Oh, I will tell you the truth now, if you like. It was all a scheme—a plot—between me and the Professor. But I forgot; I must not tell you that—unless you will promise not to say a word to him or to anybody—not to try to revenge yourself in any way.""I think I must be the best judge of whether Professor Chilworth deserves punishment or not," said Walter, looking a little white about the lips and nostrils."Oh, he deserves punishment," she said, with an odd little sob, "but he will get it in a different way. You must leave him to the Powers of Darkness—the Powers of Evil will punish him sufficiently.""Dear Fenella," said Walter, who was beginning to believe that she did not know what she was saying. "You are tired, and—and—excited, perhaps. Suppose we discuss this matter another day?""No, I will not discuss it another day," she said, with gleaming eyes. "Because I don't mean to remain engaged to you another day. Oh! you cannot guess what a martyrdom it has been. It was not you I cared for; I cared for your house and possessions, and I wanted to marry you so that I might gain some sort of claim to them—that I might have a claim to at least part of what was yours. Then, you see, I could have rewarded the Professor for all he had done for me, and then in time—in a short time—I thought that perhaps you would die, and then I should be free to marry the man I loved.""But, good heavens!" said Walter, "why should I die soon? Did you mean to kill me?"Fenella looked at him with a strange, uncanny look in her green eyes."No, I should not have killed you," she said, "but there are ways and means of causing a person to die without killing him. You don't believe in magic, I know, and yet there are ways by which one can make a strong man weaken, and sicken, and pine away, so that his limbs are as water and his strength goes from him like the fragrance from a rose. Have you never felt a strange weakening of your limbs during the last few weeks—never shaken with ague or been consumed with fever which came and went, you knew not how?""Certainly not," said Walter stoutly. "That is to say," he added slowly, modifying his denial, "that if I have felt some of these symptoms it has been only because the Castle stands in a rather low position and close to a stream of water, which makes the place a little damp."Fenella laughed maliciously. "Oh, it was not the stream," she said; "it had nothing to do with the marsh land near the Castle. I can tell you that it was because I amused myself sometimes by putting a waxen figure of you to waste before the fire, and as that figure wasted so you would have wasted in time, but I stopped it in time. I don't want to kill you—you have been too kind to me for that. But if I married you I should have to kill you, you know.""Have to kill me!" said Walter. "What nonsense, Fenella! Nobody is obliged to kill another person—except perhaps in self-defence.""It would have been in self-defence," she said, with wide-open, dilated eyes. "It is not so easy to leave off what you once begin where the Powers of Darkness are concerned. No, I should have had to go through with it—and so I will not marry you."Walter felt convinced that she was suffering from delirium, or that there was something seriously amiss with the balance of her mind. He stooped down and took her hand soothingly in both of his own."Dear Fenella," he said, "it shall be exactly as you wish. Perhaps when you are better you will think more kindly of me again. As far as I am concerned you are free—free as air. I don't want to coerce you in the very least. Can you not tell me who it is you really love? Perhaps I might be of some assistance to you—or to him."Fenella stared at him for a moment, and then went off into a fit of hysterical laughter."Assistance—assistance," she almost screamed. "Can you be of any assistance when he is engaged to your sister? It is Nigel for whom my heart is breaking, and I have told him so.""Told him so?" repeated Walter, with a stupefaction which he could not conceal."Yes, I told him so," said Fenella, still laughing wildly. "I gave him a love-philtre, but it did not succeed, and then when I told him what I had done and why I had done it he laughed at me. Oh! men are very cruel, very selfish; there is no use in saying they are not.""Nigel!" he repeated to himself in a low voice. Then a stronger look came into his face. "But Nigel never cared for you; Nigel was not abandoning you when he asked my sister to marry him? Speak the truth Fenella, for I must know.""Why should I not speak the truth?" she said, with a sudden lapse into exhaustion. "I have told you all that is necessary for you to know. No, Nigel never loved me, if you mean that. I can see it now. At one time I thought he did, but that was before you and Janet came here—long, long ago. But I was mistaken, for he never cared for me in that way at all. There is no use in my telling you anything but the truth.""No, not in the least," said Walter, in a low tone."Because," said Fenella, looking at him with those wild, distraught eyes, the gaze of which impressed Walter so painfully, "you will tell Nigel whatever I say, so there is no use in trying to deceive you. He would come and tell you that I lied, and you would believe him before me—you know you would.""No," said Walter seriously, "I would believe what you told me now, Fenella. You have spoken the truth at great cost to yourself, and I honour you for it. My dear, don't think that I despise you because you love another man—a man, too, far worthier than I shall ever be. If I had known I would never have bothered you—I can see now that it was a temptation. But there is no reason why we should not be friends even if you cannot marry me, Fenella.""And he knelt down beside her couch and tried to gather her hands in his. She wrenched them violently away."Some day," he went on, sorrowfully, "you will perhaps be able to look at me more kindly, and to think of me as a friend. I am always ready to serve you, to help you in any way I can; you have only to ask me to do anything for you and it shall be done.""I have nothing to ask you," she said in an extinguished kind of voice. And she turned her face to the cushion and closed her eyes. "All that I want you to do now is to tell Aunt Mary and everybody that I cannot marry you, and that you are quite content with my decision. Mind," she said, sharply, "you must let them think you are content, or they will never cease to blame me.""They will never blame you," said Walter, rising to his feet with an air of calm determination. "I will take care of that."Already he looked years older as he stood beside her; his face had lost its fresh colour, and there were stern lines about his mouth which had never been there before. For a moment he looked like the sort of man into which he was destined to grow in middle age: grave, stately, excellent in judgment—a worthy successor to a race of historic names. When the tension was removed he would no doubt again look young, and irresponsible, and cheerful, as the old Walter had looked, but for the moment he was changed into the likeness of his later years. Fenella, opening her eyes half-reluctantly, thus beheld him, and was almost startled at the change. Her poor little shifting brain was conscious of a little thrill of regret. If Walter had always looked like that she might have cared for him after all, but she had always treated him as a boy, forgetting that a boy is capable of development into a man."I will not trouble you any longer, then," said Walter quietly. "I will see Lady Mary before I go, and try to prevent her from troubling you about the matter. You are perfectly at liberty, Fenella, to make your own choice, and nobody has any right to reproach you if you did not know your own mind.""But I knew my own mind too well," cried Fenella, with a laugh. "I wanted to be rich and to marry the man that I cared for, but I never wanted you."She hid her face in her hands, and let it slip back to its former position amomg the cushions. While Walter, feeling that he had received a stab like that of a knife, walked straight to the door, passed out, shutting it behind him, and then went straight to Lady Mary's room.CHAPTER XXIXTHE MARQUIS OF ORANMORETHE breaking-off of the engagement between Mr Urquhart and Miss Rosedale could not remain a secret in a country neighbourhood where everybody knew everybody else and the affairs of everyone were common property. The difficulty was to know what had been the cause of the rupture, and whether either of the two persons concerned had been to blame. Lady Mary and Janet, both secretly perturbed and very angry with Fenella, were nevertheless as towers of defence to her at that time. They said that it was nobody's fault; that Fenella would remain on terms of friendship with the Urquharts, and that neither she nor Walter could for a moment be blamed; but, "the fact was," Lady Mary would say confidentially, "the young people did not find each other quite so congenial as they had hoped; and it was much better to find out an incompatibility of temper before marriage, rather than after, was it not?" And the world, or the world's wife, agreed—while speaking to Lady Mary; but behind her back they began to whisper curious things. There was a rumour concerning Fenella's infatuation for the Professor: somebody had seen her going into his lodgings on the night when she asked him for the love-philtre. It was said that Walter Urquhart had disapproved of the intimate friendship which existed between the Professor and his pupil; and that the engagement had been broken off because of Fenella's refusal to give up Dr. Chilworth.It was perhaps unfortunate that the Professor's dismissal by Lady Mary and the shutting up of his laboratory at Corballis Castle had coincided with the breaking-off of the engagement. It never, of course, occurred either to Walter or to Fenella herself that the incident should be in any way connected.Walter did his best to look as if he were unaffected by the affair, but it was difficult for him to maintain a cheerful countenance. He was restless and unhappy; and at last Nigel suggested to him that he should go abroad. A little foreign travel would be the best possible distraction; and the whole affair would have blown over by the time he came back again. Walter was not difficult to persuade. He had always wanted to see Italy, and he thought of visiting the Italian lakes, and then of working southward, and perhaps spending Christmas in Rome. But he declared it impossible to go alone."I'll take you if you like, Patricia," he said. "You look as if you wanted a change.""Oh, Walter, what a heavenly idea! But Janet would be a better companion——""My dear child, as if I could possibly leave home!" said Janet good-humouredly. "There are all the children to be looked after.""I can't imagine what they will do when you are married," Patricia said. "It seems to me that they will have to take care of themselves. But—oh, Walter! do you mean it, or were you only in joke?""No, I mean it. Come with me and we will have a good time, and see all there is to be seen," said Walter, rather listlessly. And Patricia looked so delighted that Janet was thankful to Walter for the proposal.For ever since the evening of the ball at the Marquis of Oranmore's house Janet had noticed that Patricia did not seem like herself. She was often depressed, silent, abstracted, and she behaved in the oddest possible manner to Lord Oranmore whenever he came to the house. She would not stay in the room with him; she barely spoke to him or shook hands; in fact, Janet had to take her to task and tell her that she must not behave discourteously to a guest."I would not to any other guest," said Patricia impatiently. "But you must remember that I have a grudge against Lord Oranmore: I think he behaved very unfairly—and especially to me.""It was rather unfair," said Janet sympathetically, "but don't you think you could bring yourself to forgive him, dear? I am sure he is very penitent, and he is quite distressed by your being so angry.""Let him be distressed, then! It will do him good," said Patricia, flushing a little, and flinging her head back in a way which Janet had scarcely seen since Patricia was a rather rebellious small girl. "I hope he will be more careful about making people look foolish another time. I think it was perfectly horrid of him.""It wasn't very nice, but he meant no harm. He certainly did not mean to vex or humiliate you at the ball—the way he sought you out at the very beginning proved that."But Patricia did not seem to be listening. She never would listen when Janet talked about Lord Oranmore.In a few days the preparations of the brother and sister were completed, and they set off together, Patricia almost defiantly joyous, Walter trying to look as cheerful as he could, but not succeeding very well. And when they had started and Janet was congratulating herself that there was every prospect of a fair crossing for them that night, up came Lord Oranmore in his dog-cart and was brought into the drawing-room. He spoke to Janet in an ordinary way, then looked round as if to see that no one else was there, and said rapidly:"I've only just heard. Have your brother and sister really gone?""Yes, they started for the Continent this morning. They cross to-night.""Oh, Miss Urquhart, why didn't you let me know?""Why should I let you know, Lord Oranmore?""Oh, that is the worst of it," said the young man, whimsically enough. "Nobody recognizes my pretensions. I must put them into plain words, I see, Miss Urquhart, before you will properly understand.""I certainly do not understand now," said Janet, with a perfectly blank countenance.The marquis rose, made her a low bow, and then said, rather grandiloquently—"Will you allow me to offer myself as a suitor for your sister's hand?"Janet looked at him doubtfully. "Lord Oranmore," she said, "when you speak in that tone, I scarcely know whether to take you seriously or not.""Oh, please take me seriously," he said, coming a little nearer to her side. "Please do, Miss Urquhart. I know I am one of the people who are always being misjudged because they do not seem serious: I make too many jokes to be believed in. But on this occasion I do assure you that I am perfectly serious, and that all I want is that your sister should become my wife.""Perhaps you do not remember that Patricia is not your equal socially.""I should like to hear anybody tell me so; Miss Urquhart, your name is one of the oldest in the county.""Yes, but still—you might choose someone nearer your own rank. Patricia has not been accustomed to the great world: she is a simple country girl——""Happy in this, that she is not yet so old but she may learn," said Oranmore quickly. "Come, Miss Urquhart, your objections are all just like pie-crust: couldn't you put them on one side, and give me a word of hope?""I don't know about hope," said Janet, with a little smile. "You seem to have hurt her feelings a good deal by that mystification of yours about your name. And, indeed, Lord Oranmore, I think it was not very kind of you to come into a quiet country village, like a wolf among a flock of sheep, and devote yourself to making us all feel foolish."Lord Oranmore burst into irrepressible laughter. "Did I not take you all in?" he said gleefully. "The flock of white sheep, and the black, black wolf in their midst! Oh Miss Urquhart, you have hit on the most delightful simile!""Never mind the simile. The fact remains that Patricia was very much offended; and you added to your misdeeds by not letting her know your true name and title when she first went to your home. I think she is quite right to he angry," said Janet severely: "Nobody likes being made a fool of; and I should think it would be very difficult to make a girl believe that you were seriously attached to her when you had behaved to her in that way. So there, Lord Oranmore, I have given you quite a lecture, and I hope you will excuse me for doing so; but I did not think you quite understood the difficulties that you have yourself put in the way.""No, upon my word, I didn't," said Lord Oranmore penitently. "I am really very sorry, Miss Urquhart, and I beg your pardon most humbly for any annoyance I may have given you; but don't you think that your sister will ever forgive me?""I don't know, you might ask her," said Janet, her mouth curving into a smile."I have asked her, but she would not listen to me. I asked her to be my wife—at the ball, but she refused me—as no doubt you know.""No, it is not likely that Patricia would speak of such a thing.""Wouldn't she? I thought girls—but then I know she is miles and miles above the ordinary girl. Well, I must ask her again.""You will?""I shall ask her over and over again, until she accepts me—unless she gets engaged to anyone else," said the young marquis, in a cheerful tone. "I don't mean to give up hope at all. And can you tell me what route they are following? I rather thought of going abroad myself this winter, and I should like to know where they are, you know—if only to avoid them!""I don't know what Patricia will say if I tell you where they have gone."However, Janet did not require much urging. She procured a map and showed him the route by which they meant to travel, and the towns where they intended to stay; and she was not in the least deceived by the solemn air with which Lord Oranmore assured her that he did not mean to trouble Patricia, and that lie should only gaze upon her from afar. When she heard, a few days later, that he had started for Italy, she smiled and sighed a little and shook her head. She was not at all sure that Patricia would forgive.But perhaps the sunshine of Italy had melted some of the ice out of Patricia's heart. For when Lord Oranmore first made his bow to her on the steps of a hotel beside one of the most beautiful lakes in the world, she looked up at him with a start, and then with a smile."I did not know you were travelling," she said innocently."Wise Janet!" thought Lord Oranmore. "She hasn't mentioned me.""Yes, I have been abroad some little time. I hope you are enjoying yourself.""Oh, tremendously.""And your brother?""He is enjoying himself too, I think—perhaps not quite so much as I am. Lord Oranmore, can you tell us anything about poor Miss Rosedale; I heard that she was ill.""I have not heard much about her. She does not go out much. I believe she is in a very delicate state of health, and cannot bear any exertion.""Poor Fenella!""Does Walter still—think—about her?""Why, he loved her!" said Patricia, with fine scorn. "Do you suppose he has left off loving her by this time?""You mean that you would expect love to be eternal?""Of course.""It is surely to be hoped that it won't be eternal in your brother's case.""What do you mean, Lord Oranmore?""Well, I mean that if Miss Rosedale did not care for him and was not quite worthy of him, it would be a pity for him to remain faithful to her. Why should he not fall in love again?""I know some people find it quite easy," said Patricia. There was a hint of a snub in her tone."Do you? I don't think I do. In my own experience, I never found it easy to fall in love at all."No? That was fortunate.""I only fell in love once."Patricia stared out at the shining blue water and did not speak."It made me commit many follies," said Lord Oranmore, with a gentle sigh. "For instance, after seeing her once, at a musical rehearsal, I went so far as to change my name, send for my portmanteau, and take up my abode in a country town for her sake.""What a martyrdom!" Patricia murmured."I hated myself for deceiving her; but—I was afraid to speak. It's the first step that costs, you see, and I had committed myself before I quite realised what I was doing. And then I made things worse by blundering on, but all I wanted was to be sure that I was loved for myself alone, not because I had a title or a property, or for any reason of that sort.""Was that why——""That was why.""I did not finish my sentence.""Ah, but I know what you meant. And you know what I mean, and may not I hope—some day—to be forgiven."Patricia was looking down: her hand, which was on the stone balustrade of the balcony, slid a little nearer to Lord Oranmore's. He placed his own above it and held it there."Patricia, say that you forgive me!" he said, in a pleading tone."Why should I? You don't care for my forgiveness!""I care for it—and for your love—more than for anything else in the world. That is why I have came out here—to tell you so.""You came here for that?""I did, indeed.""If you have made such a long journey, I suppose I must forgive you, then," she said, with a smile in her lovely eyes; and if there had not been a dozen English people standing by Lord Oranmore would have dropped on his knees and kissed her hand. But he was obliged to wait until they found themselves in the seclusion of a deserted hotel; and then it must be confessed that Lord Oranmore made up for lost time."And oh, dear, what will Janet say?" Patricia cried.CHAPTEE XXXTHE REPRISALFENELLA rose up in the dusk of a wintry evening and drew a heavy cloak round her; then she donned a dark hat and veil and sallied forth, a rather indistinguishable-looking figure, which would be hard to recognise by the keenest eyes. She moved curiously: slowly sometimes, now with a kind of nervous haste; and once she stopped to mutter: "I am coming! I am coming! Oh, why do you draw me to you so harshly and so fast?"She was not yet supposed to be recovered, and no one would ever have suspected her of being able to leave the house on a cold December evening, when a light sprinkling of snow lay on the ground and the stars burned frostily in a clear blue sky. She shivered as she felt the night air blow upon her; but she did not turn back. Rather she hastened, with head downward and hands thrust out, muttering to herself, "I come! I come!"More than one of the country folk who met her took her either for a lunatic or perhaps even for a ghost. She had not a natural look, and there was more talk of ghosts than of lunatics in that part of the world. She was not interfered with by anyone as she made her way down the lane and across the street of scattered houses and up the outside iron stairs which led to the Professor's lodgings. For the Professor had grown poorer since the days when he lived in clover at Corballis Castle, and his lodgings were now of the narrower and shabbier sort.Fenella did not stop. It might be wondered how she knew the place, for she had not been outside her own home for months, and no one spoke to her of the Professor. But she went, unerringly as the bird flies, to the house where he lodged, and knocked, timidly enough, at the upper door.The Professor himself opened to her, without delay. He had an air of triumph, as if he had gained an unexpected victory. And he let her see at once that he was triumphant. He made her a mocking bow, and showed her into the little living-room, with a box-bed in an alcove, which he now called his home. There were deal shelves set up against the walls and laden with bottles, phials, glasses of all sorts; various pieces of delicate machinery were set up on a corner table; and there was the old brazier which Fenella remembered, on which he had cast the gums and spices and chemical products that had thrown such brilliant lights and colours on Fenella when she danced for the subjugation of Walter's heart."Ah, come in, my fair pupil! So you have not forgotten how to obey! I have called you before a dozen times and you did not come.""I scarcely heard you—felt you. I have been so ill. I could not have come if I had tried.""Yes, my dear child, you could," said the Professor indulgently. "You are always able to obey the mesmeric call. I am surprised that it failed; but I surmise a want of vitality on your part. It was necessary for me to see you: that is why I sent for you to-night.""Why—why do you want me?" said Fenella breathlessly. "Oh, let this be the last time! Let me go free! I should come if you called me from the midst of my wedding-feast, I believe; I cannot resist you when I listen to the call. Sometimes I do not listen: that is why I do not come.""But you must always listen now, my little Fenella," said the Professor, in a wheedling tone. "You must always be ready to obey. For my own hope now is in you. And you owe me something, do you not?""What do you mean?" she asked. She had sunk down into a corner of the old-fashioned sofa, and sat there, huddled and aghast. Her face was so worn and ghastly that for a moment or two even Professor Chilworth was alarmed."You do not look well," he said. "Will you take some brandy or a liqueur? You look as though you were suffering from the cold.""No," said Fenella drearily. "I do not think I am.""Well, perhaps not. You have gone off in looks, my dear: so much I can tell you. And as I say, you owe me something which you have yet to pay—as far as you can, of course; I do not demand impossibilities.""What do you want?" said Fenella. "I have very little money; but you can have all I possess.""Thy money perish with thee!" cried the man profanely. "What do I want with your shillings and pence? What you have robbed me of is my future: a future of ease and comfort and prosperity. I should have had that if you had not betrayed me.""How did I betray you?""By telling Erskine of that love-potion, for one thing. You little fool! Do you suppose a man would do nothing when he was informed that we had tried to doctor him? More especially as he believed that he was half-poisoned afterwards (one of the ingredients went wrong). You let him know; you gave me away completely; and the consequence was that I lost my post as medical attendant to Lady Mary, and the use of the laboratory at Corballis Castle. That was your doing, Miss Rosedale: can you justify it?""No," she said, with a frightened air. "I am very sorry; but I have nothing to say.""You don't propose to compensate me?""What can I do?""You see," he said, with a sort of snarl, "you have spoilt everything by your own behaviour. You betrayed me to Nigel Erskine. Then you broke your engagement to Walter Urquhart, although you knew that by means of your marriage I meant to provide for my future. What am I to do now? What will you do for me?""There is nothing I can do," said Fenella tremulously."Nothing?" Really nothing?" He seemed to mock at her as he spoke. "Oh, I can show you something you can do. I will tell you presently; just now I want to let you understand what the present state of affairs is. I have no money: I am in debt. The woman of the house refuses to let me take my books, my papers. I shall have to fly, and get them afterwards. But I will not be poor again. I suffered enough from poverty when I was younger: I was stronger to hunger and thirst then than I am now. I would sooner die than go through the pangs I went through then."Fenella's green eyes fixed themselves upon him curiously. It was almost as though she asked him why he did not die at once, seeing that the probability was that he would have to suffer poverty once again. But Professor Chilworth did not see this aspect of the matter."I must live," he said roughly. "You have robbed me of my living; you have fooled me in every way; now you must pay me back.""How?"He rose and made a few mesmeric passes before her face; her eyes did not close, but they became glassy and fixed, as though she could not see. The Professor sat down in front of her, and took her hand in his."You have wronged me, Fenella. Will you do what I ask to repair the wrong?""Yes.""Well then, I want you to give yourself to me. I will make you my wife. You must come with me, because you possess hypnotic gifts of a high order, and with you to help me, I might still make my fortune. You have spoilt all the plans I made so carefully. You have ruined years of preparation; but I will forgive you all when you come away with me as my wife."Fenella made no answer, but the Professor did not seem to need one."Then, to provide the means of flight," he said, "you can easily go into Lady Mary's room and possess yourself of her jewel-box. If I had known she was going to send me adrift, I vow I wouldn't have been as honest as I was. You will take the jewel-box out of her room, and bring it to me.""When?""Oh, when I send you the telepathic call. Don't meddle with the jewels before you hear that. But when I call you, get your things together as quickly as you can, get the jewel-case, and come here at once. You understand? And you will obey?""Yes, oh yes. I will obey.""Wake, then," he said, shortly. "You will know what you have to do when the summons comes. Do not be misled. Obey precisely what you know that I want doing, or it will be the worse for you.""I do not like it," said Fenella, shivering. "When we lived in the same house and you used to will me to come up to the laboratory, I did not mind; but now—when it is cold and wet, and I am so weak and tired! Why don't you let me go free?""You will never go free now, for the whole of your life or mine.""You mean that the death of one of us would break the connection?"Professor Chilworth made an ugly grimace."How can I tell?" he said. "Perhaps the power continues after death, and I shall be able to send you on errands from my grave."She looked at him with large eyes of horror, the colour slowly withdrawing itself from her lips and cheeks. He laughed aloud."You silly child!" he said, touching her cheek with his finger. "You forget that when we die there is no other life. When I am dead, I am dead, and you are free. Now you can go. I do not want you any longer. But to-morrow night, perhaps, or the night following, you will come again."Fenella had not the resolution so refuse. She felt herself bound to follow his behests; in fact, she hardly thought that she could possibly hold out against the power of his will.The next night passed: the Professor made no sign. Another night—still he was silent. Perhaps he had forgotten, Fenella thought, with the foolish hopefulness of a child. On the third night she went up to her room at nine, conscious of the drawing sensation, of the intense passionate desire to fulfil his commands, which she knew to be characteristic of the mood when he exerted his will over hers. She struggled a little while, but the suffering was too intense. She felt herself obliged to give way.She took the bag in which she had collected a few necessaries; then she went softly to her aunt's room. No one was there, and by the red firelight she could see the jewel-box upon the dining-table. She took it up; it was not heavy; she could easily carry it, especially when the hypnotic trance was upon her. She held it mechanically in one hand, and looked about the room. There was a curious old pointed knife upon one of the tables: Lady Mary used it as a paper-knife, but it had a sharpened edge which might possibly make it dangerous. Fenella took it up and concealed it in the bosom of her dress. Then, with the bag in one hand and the jewel-box in the other, she dragged herself feebly out of the house.She was crying when she reached the Professor's lodgings: crying miserably from fatigue and cold and some indescribable loathing of the man and of the future that had come upon her. But the Professor scarcely noticed her condition. He seized the jewel-case and began to examine its contents, while she sank into a chair and fumbled in the front of her dress with one hand."Dear little Fenella!" the Professor said at last, in a gay tone. "You have done your work well. Your aunt will never try to recover these jewels, and they will keep us in wealth and comfort for a long time to come. Ah, if you had only obeyed me in other ways how much richer and happier we might be! There is a fly coming for us almost directly; I think I hear it at the door. I have bamboozled the landlady by leaving her a lot of empty boxes—she does not object to my leaving her. Now then, little one! What, crying again? Kiss me, my Fenella, kiss me on the lips."To his surprise, she turned her white face upward, offering her mouth for his pressure. He had not time to wonder what was in her hand. He felt a pain like a red-hot steel pass through his chest; he tried to speak, but the blood frothed from his lips; he fell to the floor, and writhed a little until the features suddenly settled and the limbs grew still.When the landlady came up to remove her lodger's luggage, she found the Professor lying stiff and stark upon the floor, while beside him sat Fenella Rosedale, mopy and mowing, with all Lady Mary's jewellery upon her neck and arms, and a diamond tiara in her hair. Professor Chilworth had been dead for an hour when he was found, and Fenella Rosedale was a raving lunatic. The "sixth sense" of which she had been the unhappy possessor had led her only to the ruin of body and mind.Nigel Erskine and Janet were married, and Lord Oranmore had brought home a marchioness, long before Walter Urquhart set foot in England again. The terrible conclusion to Fenella's conscious life (for she lived in an asylum, continually occupied in making dolls or waxen figures which she pierced with needles or left before the fire) had produced a deeply painful impression upon him. For a long time it seemed to him as though he could never think of marriage: as though he could not endure the bond of betrothal which had once been so outraged.He reached the neighbourhood of Corballis Castle one afternoon in August—the very time at which the place was at its best—and glancing round the scene, he could not help reflecting upon its beauty and wondering whether he could be happy in a place where he had once suffered so atrociously. It seemed to him as though the image of Fenella must for ever banish all thoughts of love and happiness from the scene. But even as he brooded in this manner he heard the sound of laughter and merry voices, and remembered that he was not expected until the following day, and that his brothers and sisters would be making merry—perhaps thinking to themselves that it was their last day of freedom and enjoyment. He had not seen any of them for three years.He came upon them rather suddenly, but they did not see him because he ensconced himself behind a piece of jutting masonry and looked at them with eager, critical eyes. The boys were fine, manly fellows: Annabel was a beautiful girl, with a sweet, modest expression which had not been hers in her younger days: Dora was a pretty child still. But who was with them? A girl—older than Annabel—a woman, perhaps he should have said, with a clear-cut, frank face, candid eyes, a pure complexion, and beautiful wavy brown hair—she had the brightest smile that he had ever seen, and the two young sisters were clinging to her as though she belonged to them."Oh stay, Virgina!" they said coaxingly. "Do stay and have dinner with us. Walter's not coming till to-morrow; and if he were, you wouldn't mind, would you?""Oh no, I shouldn't mind," said Virginia briskly, "but I think neither he nor you would want me if he were home again.""Can't I deny that?" said Walter, coming forward. "Forgive me for eavesdropping: I was only there a moment. I hope you will stay, Miss Craven. As for these young people——"But he was being kissed and embraced with a warmth that he had hardly expected, and he had not the chance of saying more.Virginia did not stay to dinner, but she promised to come another time, and the young people saw her depart with regret."You seem fond of her?" Walter said, with some curiosity."I don't know what we should have done without her when Janet was first married," Annabel said. "She was like a sister to us all.""A sister to them all." That was what he had hoped Fenella would be. That was what she had failed to become, so utterly. He had just received news of her death in the asylum where she had been lodged; and strangely enough he, for the first time, felt himself free. Hitherto he had always been conscious of some secret bond.But the bond was severed. The time had come for new interests, new ties, new relationships. And Walter, moving about under the stars that night, thought again and again of Virginia's candid eyes and clear-cut face. She was the woman to make a man happy: he had already come to that conclusion; and it was not very long before he had persuaded her to be of his opinion too. "An ideal wife for him," everybody said. And everybody for once was right.THE ENDPRINTED BY A.C. FOWLER, MOORFIELDS, E.C. AND SHOREDITCH, E.C.Advert included in back of Sergeant's "The Sixth Sense"Advert included in back of Sergeant's "The Sixth Sense"Advert included in back of Sergeant's "The Sixth Sense"Advert included in back of Sergeant's "The Sixth Sense"Advert included in back of Sergeant's "The Sixth Sense"Advert included in back of Sergeant's "The Sixth Sense"Advert included in back of Sergeant's "The Sixth Sense"Advert included in back of Sergeant's "The Sixth Sense"Advert included in back of Sergeant's "The Sixth Sense"Advert included in back of Sergeant's "The Sixth Sense"Advert included in back of Sergeant's "The Sixth Sense"Advert included in back of Sergeant's "The Sixth Sense"Advert included in back of Sergeant's "The Sixth Sense"Advert included in back of Sergeant's "The Sixth Sense"Advert included in back of Sergeant's "The Sixth Sense"Advert included in back of Sergeant's The Sixth Sense"