King of the Castle Part 58

"Don't disturb me till I ring. No: I'll come for you. Sleep is the best thing for him."

"Sleep is the best thing for him," said Sarah Woodham in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, as she went slowly back into the hall, and then into the servants' quarters, from whence, after a few minutes, she returned to go about in a silent way like a dark shadow, closing and fastening doors, before listening for awhile on the study mat, and then going into the dining-room, where she seated herself on one of the chairs, resting her chin upon her hands, and gazing straight before her in the darkness.

Then for a time all was still, save a low sigh, almost like a moan, which came from the suffering woman's breast, followed by a s.h.i.+ver and a start, for it was as if the hand of the dead had just been laid upon her shoulder.

Volume Two, Chapter XI.

THE NIGHT ALARM.

"Asleep!"

"You, sir? I--I suppose I must have been," faltered Sarah.

"Well, why not? I just came to see if you were within reach, in case I wanted you."

"Master, sir?"

"Just the same."

The doctor went out just as silently as he had entered, and Sarah heard the study door softly close, when once more she uttered the same low, moaning sigh, and rocked herself to and fro in her chair as she seemed to see the hard, thin face of her husband gazing straight at her, as she had seen it when he was dying in their cottage, and laying upon her the terrible duty she was to fulfil.

How long she sat like that she could not tell, but hours must have pa.s.sed unnoted--hours during which, with eyes unvisited by sleep, she had gone on and on through her old life, and the scenes, when her husband had returned from his work, bitterly reviling Gartram for some real or fancied wrong, and then a light seemed to flash into the room like the light she had been expecting, and the doctor stood before her with a curious, intense look in his countenance, one she recalled vividly as having been there on the day her husband died.

Meanwhile Claude and Mary had sat talking for some time about the strange ending of the evening. Claude, in spite of her anxiety on her father's behalf, feeling half pleased, half frightened by Glyddyr's acts.

He appeared so strange, she thought, so shrinking in her presence, and so fearful of intruding upon her, even to be ready to go away.

Was this the man's real love for her? Did he really care for her? and was she misjudging him in thinking that his desire was for her future prospects alone--her money?

She shuddered with dread lest he really should love her, and then her heart sank lower and lower, for the stern, upbraiding look of Chris Lisle was before her. The face of the boy companion, for whom she had always felt a warm affection, one which she knew in her heart, though she had not confessed it, had ripened into woman's love for man.

"Are we going to sit up, or try to sleep, Claude?" said Mary at last.

"I am going to sit up, Mary. You are going to lie down and sleep."

"Doctor Asher said that we were both to lie down and rest."

"Yes; and you will do so. I could not sleep if I did. It is impossible."

"But uncle is not seriously ill now, dear."

"How do we know, Mary? He is not as he should be. I know--I feel that he is in an unnatural state."

Mary slowly rose, walked across the room to the washstand, and stood there for some minutes before turning to her cousin.

"There," she said; "now I feel as you do--that it would be impossible to sleep. Let's have a quiet talk about uncle, and see if we cannot devise some means for making him think less about the quarry and money. Oh, Claudie, what a happy world this would be if there were no money and no love."

Claude made no reply but sat gazing out through the window at the sea, where the moon, now high in the heavens, sent a path of silvery light along the dark waters, while, from far below, the waves washed and whispered among the rocks with a musical, plas.h.i.+ng sound that rose in a drowsy murmur to the window against which she sat.

"Claude, dear, shall I shut the window now? Isn't it too cool on a night like this?"

Claude turned to her, and looked rather vacantly in her face.

"The tide is going out fast, Mary," she said, in a low, dreamy whisper.

"Don't you ever feel that there may be some truth in what they say, that people who are near the end pa.s.s away from us with the falling tide?"

"Claudie, dear, are you going to be ill?"

"I hope not."

"And so do I; but do you know you are talking a lot of dreamy nonsense, such as is most distressing at a time like this. We haven't got anybody near the end. Oh, what nonsense! It's all old-fas.h.i.+oned silliness."

Claude shook her head.

"No," she said, "there is something in it all, Mary, and to-night it is as if some great trouble were coming upon us."

"Are you going to set up for a prophetess, dear?"

"Shall we go down and see how my father is, Mary?"

"And insult Dr Asher by setting his commands at defiance. No; I am going to sit here patiently till morning, unless he sends word to us that uncle has woke up, and that he has gone to bed like a Christian.

Claude, dear, your father must be a very unhappy man."

"Then it is our duty to try and make him happy."

"By doing everything he wishes us to do?"

Claude felt the hot blood flush into her cheeks again and she made no reply. She only turned to look out at the broad path of light stretching far away over the sea, and, as the water murmured about the rocks, it was as if some solemn spell of silence had fallen upon them, influencing Mary so that she ceased speaking, leaving the bantering remarks ready, unsaid. Claude put her arm around her cousin, and laid her head upon her shoulder, thinking of the words that had been spoken, and of why they were sitting up, till her heart almost sank, and the sea began to be to her full of strange whisperings and portents of some trouble to come.

And so hour after hour glided by, till they were chilled by the cold night air, but neither moved till they were electrified by a quick, light tapping on the door, which was opened before they could reach it, and from out of the darkness came a husky voice which sounded familiar.

"Come down, Miss Claude, at once."

"Ah! Woodham? How is he?"

"Don't ask me, my dear, but make haste down. You may be wanted. Doctor Asher wishes me to go and fetch Doctor Rixton."

"But why? What for?"

"Miss Claude, dear, don't ask me," said the woman, in suffocating tones, as she turned slowly away.

Claude hurriedly followed her down toward the study door, where she stood trembling for a few moments, feeling that there had then been a meaning in the portent which had troubled her that night. Then, turning the handle, she went into the room.

"Well, back so soon?" said the doctor, whose face was from her. "Is he coming?"

"Doctor Asher."

"You, Miss Gartram!" he said, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, as he turned sharply round. "What is it? Why have you come?"