The Yellow House; Master of Men Read online

  CHAPTER II

  ON THE MOOR

  After tea my father went to his study, for it was late in the week,and he was a most conscientious writer of sermons. I read for anhour, and then, tired alike of my book and my own company, I strolledup and down the drive. This restlessness was one of my greatesttroubles. When the fit came I could neither work nor read nor thinkconnectedly. It was a phase of incipient dissatisfaction with life,morbid, but inevitable. At the end of the drive nearest the road, Imet Alice, my youngest sister, walking briskly with a book under herarm, and a quiet smile upon her homely face. I watched her comingtowards me, and I almost envied her. What a comfort to be blessed witha placid disposition and an optimistic frame of mind!

  "Well, you look as though you had been enjoying yourself," I remarked,placing myself in her way.

  "So I have--after a fashion," she answered, good humoredly. "Are youwise to be without a hat, Kate? To look at your airy attire one wouldimagine that it was summer instead of autumn. Come back into the housewith me."

  I laughed at her in contempt. There was a difference indeed between mymuslin gown and the plain black skirt and jacket, powdered with dust,which was Alice's usual costume.

  "Have you ever known me to catch cold through wearing thin clothes orgoing without a hat?" I asked. "I am tired of being indoors. Therehave been people here all the afternoon. I wonder that your conscienceallows you to shirk your part of the duty and leave all the tiresomeentertaining to be done by me!"

  She looked at me with wide-opened eyes and a concerned face. Alice wasalways so painfully literal.

  "Why, I thought that you liked it!" she exclaimed. I was in an evilmood, and I determined to shock her. It was never a difficult task.

  "So I do sometimes," I answered; "but to-day my callers havebeen all women, winding up with an hour and a half of LadyNaselton. One gets so tired of one's own sex! Not a single man all theafternoon. Somebody else's husband to pass the bread and butter wouldhave been a godsend!"

  Alice pursed up her lips, and turned her head away with a look ofdispleasure.

  "I am surprised to hear you talk like that, Kate," she said,quietly. "Do you think that it is quite good taste?"

  "Be off, you little goose!" I called after her as she passed ontowards the house with quickened step and rigid head. The little soberfigure turned the bend and disappeared without looking around. She wasthe perfect type of a clergyman's daughter--studiously conventional,unremittingly proper, inevitably a little priggish. She was the rightperson in the right place. She had the supreme good fortune to bein accord with her environment. As for me, I was a veritable blacksheep. I looked after her and sighed.

  I had no desire to go in; on the other hand, there was nothing tostay out for. I hesitated for a moment, and then strolled on to theend of the avenue. A change in the weather seemed imminent. A grey,murky twilight had followed the afternoon of brilliant sunshine, and alow south wind was moaning amongst the Norwegian firs. I leaned overthe gate with my face turned towards the great indistinct front ofDeville Court. There was nothing to look at. The trees had taken tothemselves fantastic shapes, little wreaths of white mist were risingfrom the hollows of the park. The landscape was grey, colorless,monotonous. My whole life was like that, I thought, with a suddendespondent chill. The lives of most girls must be unless they aredomestic. In our little family Alice absorbed the domesticity. Therewas not one shred of it in my disposition.

  I realized with a start that I was becoming morbid, and turned fromthe gate towards the house. Suddenly I heard an unexpected sound--thesound of voices close at hand. I stopped short and half turnedround. A deep voice rang out upon the still, damp air--

  "Get over, Madam! Get over, Marvel!"

  There was the sound of the cracking of a whip and the soft patter ofdogs' feet as they came along the lane below--a narrow thoroughfarewhich was bounded on one side by our wall and on the other by the openstretch of park at the head of which stood Deville Court. There musthave been quite twenty of them, all of the same breed--beagles--andamongst them two people were walking, a man and a woman. The man wasnearest to me, and I could see him more distinctly. He was tall andvery broad, with a ragged beard and long hair. He wore no collar, andthere was a great rent in his shabby shooting coat. Of his features Icould see nothing. He wore knickerbockers, and stockings, and thickshoes. He was by no means an ordinary looking person, but he wascertainly not prepossessing. The most favorable thing about him washis carriage, which was upright and easy, but even that was in ameasure spoiled by a distinct suggestion of surliness. The womanby his side I could only see very indistinctly. She was slim, andwore some sort of a plain tailor gown, but she did not appear to beyoung. As they came nearer to me, I slipped from the drive on to theverge of the shrubbery, standing for a moment in the shadow of a talllaurel bush. I was not seen, but I could hear their voices. The womanwas speaking.

  "A new vicar, or curate-in-charge, here, isn't there, Bruce? I fancy Iheard that one was expected."

  A sullen, impatient growl came from her side.

  "Ay, some fellow with a daughter, Morris was telling me. The parsonwas bound to come, I suppose, but what the mischief does he want witha daughter?"

  A little laugh from the woman--a pleasant, musical laugh.

  "Daughters, I believe--I heard some one say that there were two. Whata misogynist you are getting! Why shouldn't the man have daughters ifhe likes? I really believe that there are two of them."

  There was a contemptuous snort, and a moment's silence. They wereexactly opposite to me now, but the hedge and the shadow of thelaurels beneath which I was standing completely shielded me fromobservation. The man's huge form stood out with almost startlingdistinctness against the grey sky. He was lashing the thistles by theside of the road with his long whip.

  "Maybe!" he growled. "I've seen but one--a pale-faced, black-hairedchit."

  I smothered a laugh. I was the pale-faced, black-haired chit, but itwas scarcely a polite way of alluding to me, Mr. Bruce Deville. Whenthey had gone by I leaned over the gate again, and watched themvanish amongst the shadows. The sound of their voices came to meindistinctly; but I could hear the deep bass of the man as he slungsome scornful exclamation out upon the moist air. His great figure,looming unnaturally large through the misty twilight, was the last tovanish. It was my first glimpse of Mr. Bruce Deville of Deville Court.

  I turned round with a terrified start. Almost at my side some heavybody had fallen to the ground with a faint groan. A single step, andI was bending over the prostrate form of a man. I caught his hand andgazed into his face with horrified eyes. It was my father. He musthave been within a yard of me when he fell.

  His eyes were half closed, and his hands were cold. Gathering up myskirts in my hand, I ran swiftly across the lawn into the house.

  I met Alice in the hall. "Get some brandy!" I cried,breathlessly. "Father is ill--out in the garden! Quick!"

  She brought it in a moment. Together we hurried back to where I hadleft him. He had not moved. His cheeks were ghastly pale, and his eyeswere still closed. I felt his pulse and his heart, and unfastened hiscollar.

  "There is nothing serious the matter--at least I think not," Iwhispered to Alice. "It is only a fainting fit."

  I rubbed his hands, and we forced some brandy between hislips. Presently he opened his eyes, and raised his head a little,looking half fearfully around.

  "It was her voice," he whispered, hoarsely. "It came to me throughthe shadows! Where is she? What have you done with her? There was arustling of the leaves--and then I heard her speak!"

  "There is no one here but Alice and myself," I said, bending overhim. "You must have been fancying things. Are you better?"

  "Better!" He looked up at both of us, and the light came back into hisface.

  "Ah! I see! I must have fainted!" he exclaimed. "I remember the studywas close, and I came to get cool. Yet, I thought--I thought----"

  I held out my arm, and he staggered up. He was still white and shak
en,but evidently his memory was returning.

  "I remember it was close in the study," he said--"very close; I wastired too. I must have walked too far. I don't like it though. I mustsee a doctor; I must certainly see a doctor!"

  Alice bent over him full of sympathy, and he took her arm. I walkedbehind him in silence. A curious thought had taken possession of me. Icould not get rid of the impression of my father's first words, andhis white, terrified face. Was it indeed a wild fancy of his, or hadhe really heard this voice which had stirred him so deeply? I triedto laugh at the idea. I could not. His cry was so natural, his terrorso apparent! He had heard a voice. He had been stricken with a suddenterror. Whose was the voice--whence his fear of it? I watched himleaning slightly upon Alice's arm, and walking on slowly in frontof me towards the house. Already he was better. His features hadreassumed their customary air of delicate and reserved strength. Ilooked at him with new and curious eyes. For the first time I wonderedwhether there might be another world, or the ashes of an old onebeneath that grey, impenetrable mask.