Donal Grant Part 36

"Tut!" he resumed, "that make you sleep till ten o'clock!--If you will kindly wait in the hall, or in the schoolroom, I will bring you his lords.h.i.+p's orders."

So saying while he washed his hands and took off his white ap.r.o.n, Simmons departed on his errand to his master. Donal went to the foot of the grand staircase, and there waited.

As he stood he heard a light step above him, and involuntarily glancing up, saw the light shape of lady Arctura come round the curve of the spiral stair, descending rather slowly and very softly, as if her feet were thinking. She checked herself for an infinitesimal moment, then moved on again. Donal stood with bended head as she pa.s.sed. If she acknowledged his obeisance it was with the slightest return, but she lifted her eyes to his face with a look that seemed to have in it a strange wistful trouble--not very marked, yet notable. She pa.s.sed on and vanished, leaving that look a lingering presence in Donal's thought. What was it? Was it anything? What could it mean? Had he really seen it? Was it there, or had he only imagined it?

Simmons kept him waiting a good while. He had found his lords.h.i.+p getting up, and had had to stay to help him dress. At length he came, excusing himself that his lords.h.i.+p's temper at such times--that was, in his dumpy fits--was not of the evenest, and required a gentle hand. But his lords.h.i.+p would see him--and could Mr. Grant find the way himself, for his old bones ached with running up and down those endless stone steps? Donal answered he knew the way, and sprang up the stair.

But his mind was more occupied with the coming interview than with the way to it, which caused him to take a wrong turn after leaving the stair: he had a good gift in s.p.a.ce-relations, but instinct was here not so keen as on a hill-side. The consequence was that he found himself in the picture-gallery.

A strange feeling of pain, as at the presence of a condition he did not wish to encourage, awoke in him at the discovery. He walked along, however, thus taking, he thought, the readiest way to his lords.h.i.+p's apartment: either he would find him in his bedroom, or could go through that to his sitting-room! He glanced at the pictures he pa.s.sed, and seemed, strange to say, though, so far as he knew, he had never been in the place except in the dark, to recognize some of them as belonging to the stuff of the dream in which he had been wandering through the night--only that was a glowing and gorgeous dream, whereas the pictures were even commonplace! Here was something to be meditated upon--but for the present postponed! His lords.h.i.+p was expecting him!

Arrived, as he thought, at the door of the earl's bedroom, he knocked, and receiving no answer, opened it, and found himself in a narrow pa.s.sage. Nearly opposite was another door, partly open, and hearing a movement within, he ventured to knock there. A voice he knew at once to be lady Arctura's, invited him to enter. It was an old, lovely, gloomy little room, in which sat the lady writing. It had but one low lattice-window, to the west, but a fire blazed cheerfully in the old-fas.h.i.+oned grate. She looked up, nor showed more surprise than if he had been a servant she had rung for.

"I beg your pardon, my lady," he said: "my lord wished to see me, but I have lost my way."

"I will show it you," she answered, and rising came to him.

She led him along the winding narrow pa.s.sage, pointed out to him the door of his lords.h.i.+p's sitting-room, and turned away--again, Donal could not help thinking, with a look as of some anxiety about him.

He knocked, and the voice of the earl bade him enter.

His lords.h.i.+p was in his dressing-gown, on a couch of faded satin of a gold colour, against which his pale yellow face looked cadaverous.

"Good morning, Mr. Grant," he said. "I am glad to see you better!"

"I thank you, my lord," returned Donal. "I have to make an apology. I cannot understand how it was, except, perhaps, that, being so little accustomed to strong drink,--"

"There is not the smallest occasion to say a word," interrupted his lords.h.i.+p. "You did not once forget yourself, or cease to behave like a gentleman!"

"Your lords.h.i.+p is very kind. Still I cannot help being sorry. I shall take good care in the future."

"It might be as well," conceded the earl, "to set yourself a limit--necessarily in your case a narrow one.--Some const.i.tutions are so immediately responsive!" he added in a murmur. "The least exhibition of--!--But a man like you, Mr. Grant," he went on aloud, "will always know to take care of himself!"

"Sometimes, apparently, when it is too late!" rejoined Donal. "But I must not annoy your lords.h.i.+p with any further expression of my regret!"

"Will you dine with me to-night?" said the earl. "I am lonely now.

Sometimes, for months together, I feel no need of a companion: my books and pictures content me. All at once a longing for society will seize me, and that longing my health will not permit me to indulge. I am not by nature unsociable--much the contrary. You may wonder I do not admit my own family more freely; but my wretched health makes me shrink from loud voices and abrupt motions."

"But lady Arctura!" thought Donal. "Your lords.h.i.+p will find me a poor subst.i.tute, I fear," he said, "for the society you would like. But I am at your lords.h.i.+p's service."

He could not help turning with a moment's longing and regret to his tower-nest and the company of his books and thoughts; but he did not feel that he had a choice.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

THE SECOND DINNER WITH THE EARL.

He went as before, conducted by the butler, and formally announced. To his surprise, with the earl was lady Arctura. His lords.h.i.+p made him give her his arm, and followed.

This was to Donal a very different dinner from that of the evening before. Whether the presence of his niece made the earl rouse himself to be agreeable, or he had grown better since the morning and his spirits had risen, certainly he was not like the same man. He talked in a rather forced-playful way, but told two or three good stories; described with vivacity some of the adventures of his youth; spoke of several great men he had met; and in short was all that could be desired in a host. Donal took no wine during dinner, the earl as before took very little, and lady Arctura none. She listened respectfully to her uncle's talk, and was attentive when Donal spoke; he thought she looked even sympathetic two or three times; and once he caught the expression as of anxiety he had seen on her face that same day twice before. It was strange, too, he thought, that, not seeing her sometimes for a week together, he should thus meet her three times in one day.

When the last of the dinner was removed and the wine placed on the table, Donal thought his lords.h.i.+p looked as if he expected his niece to go; but she kept her place. He asked her which wine she would have, but she declined any. He filled his gla.s.s, and pushed the decanter to Donal. He too filled his gla.s.s, and drank slowly.

The talk revived. But Donal could not help fancying that the eyes of the lady now and then sought his with a sort of question in them--almost as if she feared something was going to happen to him. He attributed this to her having heard that he took too much wine the night before. The situation was unpleasant. He must, however, brave it out! When he refused a second gla.s.s, which the earl by no means pressed, he thought he saw her look relieved; but more than once thereafter he saw, or fancied he saw her glance at him with that expression of slight anxiety.

In its course the talk fell upon sheep, and Donal was relating some of his experiences with them and their dogs, greatly interested in the subject; when all at once, just as before, something seemed to burst in his head, and immediately, although he knew he was sitting at table with the earl and lady Arctura, he was uncertain whether he was not at the same time upon the side of a lonely hill, closed in a magic night of high summer, his woolly and hairy friends lying all about him, and a light glimmering faintly on the heather a little way off, which he knew for the flame that marks for a moment the footstep of an angel, when he touches ever so lightly the solid earth. He seemed to be reading the thoughts of his sheep around him, yet all the time went on talking, and knew he was talking, with the earl and the lady.

After a while, everything was changed. He was no longer either with his sheep or his company. He was alone, and walking swiftly through and beyond the park, in a fierce wind from the north-east, battling with it, and ruling it like a fiery horse. By and by came a hoa.r.s.e, terrible music, which he knew for the thunderous beat of the waves on the low sh.o.r.e, yet imagined issuing from an indescribable instrument, gigantic and grotesque. He felt it first--through his feet, as one feels without hearing the tones of an organ for which the building is too small to allow scope to their vibration: the waves made the ground beat against the soles of his feet as he walked; but soon he heard it like the infinitely prolonged roaring of a sky-built organ. It was drawing him to the sea, whether in the body or out of the body he knew not: he was but conscious of forms of existence: whether those forms had relation to things outside him, or whether they belonged only to the world within him, he was unaware. The roaring of the great water-organ grew louder and louder. He knew every step of the way to the sh.o.r.e--across the fields and over fences and stiles. He turned this way and that, to avoid here a ditch, there a deep sandy patch. And still the music grew louder and louder--and at length came in his face the driving spray: it was the flying touch of the wings on which the tones went hurrying past into the depths of awful distance! His feet were now wading through the bent-tufted sand, with the hard, bare, wave-beaten sand in front of him. Through the dark he could see the white fierceness of the hurrying waves as they rushed to the sh.o.r.e, then leaning, toppling, curling, self-undermined, hurled forth at once all the sound that was in them in a falling roar of defeat. Every wave was a complex chord, with winnowed tones feathering it round. He paced up and down the sand--it seemed for ages. Why he paced there he did not know--why always he turned and went back instead of going on.

Suddenly he thought he saw something dark in the hollow of a wave that swept to its fall. The moon came out as it broke, and the something was rolled in the surf up the sh.o.r.e. Donal stood watching it. Why should he move? What was it to him? The next wave would reclaim it for the ocean!

It looked like the body of a man, but what did it matter! Many such were tossed in the hollows of that music!

But something came back to him out of the ancient years: in the ages gone by men did what they could! There was a word they used then: they said men ought to do this or that! This body might not be dead--or dead, some one might like to have it! He rushed into the water, and caught it--ere the next wave broke, though hours of cogitation, ratiocination, recollection, seemed to have intervened. The breaking wave drenched him from head to foot: he clung to his prize and dragged it out. A moment's bewilderment, and he came to himself lying on the sand, his arms round a great lump of net, lost from some fis.h.i.+ng boat.

His illusions were gone. He was sitting in a cold wind, wet to the skin, on the border of a wild sea. A poor, s.h.i.+vering, altogether ordinary and uncomfortable mortal, he sat on the sh.o.r.e of the German Ocean, from which he had rescued a tangled ma.s.s of net and seaweed! He dragged it beyond the reach of the waves, and set out for home.

By the time he reached the castle he was quite warm. His door at the foot of the tower was open, he crept up, and was soon fast asleep.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII.

THE HOUSEKEEPER'S ROOM.

He was not so late the next morning.

Ere he had finished his breakfast he had made up his mind that he must beware of the earl. He was satisfied that the experiences of the past night could not be the consequence of one gla.s.s of wine. If he asked him again, he would go to dinner with him, but would drink nothing but water.

School was just over when Simmons came from his lords.h.i.+p, to inquire after him, and invite him to dine with him that evening. Donald immediately consented.

This time lady Arctura was not with the earl.

After as during dinner Donal declined to drink. His lords.h.i.+p cast on him a keen, searching glance, but it was only a glance, and took no farther notice of his refusal. The conversation, however, which had not been brilliant from the first, now sank and sank till it was not; and after a cup of coffee, his lords.h.i.+p, remarking that he was not feeling himself, begged Donal to excuse him, and proceeded to retire. Donal rose, and with a hope that his lords.h.i.+p would have a good night and feel better in the morning, left the room.

The pa.s.sage outside was lighted only by a rather dim lamp, and in the distance Donal saw what he could but distinguish as the form of a woman, standing by the door which opened upon the great staircase. He supposed it at first to be one of the maids; but the servants were so few compared with the size of the castle that one was seldom to be met on stair or in pa.s.sage; and besides, the form stood as if waiting for some one! As he drew nearer, he saw it was lady Arctura, and would have pa.s.sed with an obeisance. But ere he could lay his hand on the lock, hers was there to prevent him. He then saw that she was agitated, and that she had stopped him thus because her voice had at the moment failed her. The next moment, however, she recovered it, and her self-possession as well.

"Mr. Grant," she said, in a low voice, "I wish to speak to you--if you will allow me."

"I am at your service, my lady," answered Donal.

"But we cannot here! My uncle--"

"Shall we go into the picture-gallery?" suggested Donal; "there is moonlight there."

"No; that would be still nearer my uncle. His hearing is sometimes preternaturally keen; and besides, as you know, he often walks there after his evening meal. But--excuse me, Mr. Grant--you will understand me presently--are you--are you quite--?"