The Master of Greylands. Mrs. Henry Wood
bedroom at the Dolphin Inn, no object in nature had ever seemed so beautiful. Not the vineyards of his native land; not the sunny plains of Italy; not the grand picturesque mountains of Switzerland: all these he had been accustomed to from his youth, and they were fair to look upon: but to him they were as nothing, compared with this wide, wondrous, ever-changing sea.
Some days, a very few, had elapsed since his visit to Stilborough, told of in the last chapter. Another week had come in, and this was the Tuesday in it: destined to be a most fatal day for more than one person connected with our story. The snow-storm he had anticipated, in his homeward walk that afternoon, had passed off without falling; the cold itself seemed on the next day to have taken its departure. With that variable caprice that distinguishes our insular climate, the biting frost, the keen east wind, that had almost cut people through, had given, place to the warm, cheering weather of a balmy spring.
Anthony Castlemaine had opened the casement window to admit the genial air, the fresh sea-breeze, and stood there in profound thought. On the table lay a letter he had just written. Its seal of black wax was stamped with the Castlemaine crest, and it was addressed to his native place, Gap, Dauphiné. Some shouting arose on the beach, drawing his attention. A fishing-boat was preparing to put out; one of her men had not come down, and the two others and the shrill boy were raising their voices to make tie laggard hear. He went dashing out of the Dolphin Inn, just under the view of Anthony.
Anthony Castlemaine was in perplexity. He did not see his way any clearer before him than he had seen it when he first came. That Greylands' Rest was legally his he entertained no doubt of; but to prove it was another matter. He and Mr. Castlemaine had met one day near the Dolphin; they had talked for a few minutes, but Anthony could make out nothing. Twice since then he had presented himself at Greylands Rest, and Mr. Castlemaine had been denied to him. It was quite evident he meant to have nothing more to do with Anthony.
The waves of the sea sparkled and rippled; the sun came out from behind a fleecy cloud, and shone with renewed strength; a beautiful vessel in the distance was passing with all her sails set.
"It is very strange behaviour," mused Anthony. "If the estate belongs in truth to my uncle James, why can he not show me that it does? His not showing it almost proves of itself that it is mine. I must get to see him: I cannot stay in the dark like this."
Taking up the letter, he descended the stairs, went across to the little general shop near the beach, and dropped it into the letter-box. He was quite at home in Greylands now, had made acquaintance with its inhabitants, and was known and recognised as the grandson of old Anthony Castlemaine. In returning he met one of the Grey Sisters. Lifting his hat, he bowed to her with deep respect; for he regarded the Grey Ladies as a religious order, and in his native land these female communities are held in reverence. Little Sister Phoeby--she was very short and stout, and nearly middle-aged, and only one of the working sisters--bobbed down her grey head in return, giving him a kindly good-morrow.
"And John Bent thinks that Mr. Castlemaine derides these good ladies!" thought Anthony. "It must be fancy. John has fancies. He---- Dear me! here's that charming demoiselle again!"
She was advancing swiftly, seemingly wishing to catch Sister Phoeby, her pretty figure attired becomingly in a light silk dress and short scarlet cloak with silken tassels; her strangely-beautiful eyes were cast on the sea with the same look of loving admiration that Anthony's own sometimes wore when gazing at it. He could have wished that this young lady was his sister, or really his cousin: for Anthony had not seen many faces in his life that he so believed in for truth and goodness and beauty as Ethel Reene's.
They had nearly met before she observed him. He stopped and addressed some words to her in deprecation of his former fault, keeping his hat off while he spoke. Ethel answered him frankly, and held out her hand. Since the previous encounter, she had had time to digest the offence, to understand how it had arisen and that he had not the least intention of insulting her; she had also been favourably impressed with what she had heard abroad of Anthony Castlemaine.
"Let us forget it," said Ethel, with her sweet smile. "I understand now how it happened; I know you did not intend any offence. Are you going to make a long stay at the Dolphin?"
"That must depend partly on Mr. Castlemaine," replied Anthony. "He will not give me an interview, and for myself I can scarcely see a step before my face. I must ask him once more to listen to me; I hope he will. I had some thought of going to him this afternoon."
"He is at home," said Ethel, innocently, who only very imperfectly understood the trouble looming between the young man before her and Mr. Castlemaine.
"At home now? Then I will go to him at once," said he, acting on the impulse of the moment: and he again offered his hand to Ethel. "Adieu. I hope you have quite forgiven me, Miss Castlemaine."
"I have quite forgiven you, indeed: but I am not Miss Castlemaine, you know," she said, laughing, as she let her hand rest in his. "You will know my name better soon--Ethel Reene. Good-bye."
And during her after-life Ethel was wont to look back often on this little meeting, and to feel thankful that it had taken place, and that it was a pleasant one. For she never again saw the ill-fated young man in this world.
Recrossing the road, and passing the inn corner, Anthony got into the fields on his way to Greylands' Rest. They were pleasanter than the road that sunshiny afternoon. He walked along in deep thought, deliberating on what he should say.
Ah, if he could but have seen behind him! A double shadow followed him--as the poet Hood wrote of Miss Kilmansegg going upstairs to her doom. His own natural shadow and another. Nearer and nearer it had been gradually drawing as the days went on; and now on this day it lay ready to close on him--as it would close ere the clock had told many more hours: the dark, dreadful, ominous shadow of death. Of a death done in darkness and secret.
In the last field, side by side with the avenue that led to Greylands' Rest, while Anthony was wondering whether he should be permitted to see his uncle or not, his uncle suddenly stood in front of him, coming through the little gateway that led into the field.
The Master of Greylands, erect, well dressed, handsome, would have passed him with a slight nod, but Anthony put himself in his way.
"Uncle James, I beg your pardon; I would not wish to be rude; but will you allow me to speak a few little words to you?"
"I am in a hurry," said Mr. Castlemaine.
"Will you give me then a short interview at your house this evening? Or to-morrow morning, if that will suit you better."
"No," replied Mr. Castlemaine.
"Twice I have been to Greylands' Rest, asking to see you, Uncle James; and twice have I been denied. Though the last time I think you were at home, and that you saw me from the window."
"You cannot have anything to say to me that I wish to hear, or that would be profitable to yourself," returned the Master of Greylands "for that reason I was denied to you. Our first interview was not so satisfactory that we need wish for another."
"But it is necessary that we should converse," returned the young man. "I am waiting to have this question settled as to Greylands' Rest."
"What question?" demanded Mr. Castlemaine, with haughty indifference--just as though he had quite forgotten that anything had ever arisen in regard to it.
"Greylands' Rest is yours, Uncle James, or it is mine: I must ascertain which of us it belongs to. You decline to tell me----"
"Decline to tell you," interrupted Mr. Castlemaine. "Cannot you use your own eyes and your judgment, and see that it is mine."
"I see that you are in possession of it, Uncle James; I see no farther. You decline to show me anything of the facts: my Uncle Peter declines; Knivett, the attorney-at-law, declines."
"Have you applied to Knivett?"
"Yes, last week."
The eyes of Mr. Castlemaine flashed fire. "How dare you do such a thing, sir, as attempt to interfere in my affairs? Tamper with my