The Evil Guest Read online

gay tone, ona sudden said--

  "And so, madame, we are to have a visitor, Miss Rhoda tells me--abaronet, is he not?"

  "Yes, indeed, mademoiselle--Sir Wynston Berkley, a gay London gentleman,and a cousin of Mr. Marston's," she replied.

  "Ha--a cousin!" exclaimed the young lady, with a little more surprise inher tone than seemed altogether called for--"a cousin? oh, then, that isthe reason of his visit. Do, pray, madame, tell me all about him; I am somuch afraid of strangers, and what you call men of the world. Oh, dearMrs. Marston, I am not worthy to be here, and he will see all that in amoment; indeed, indeed, I am afraid. Pray tell me all about him."

  She said this with a simplicity which made the elder lady smile, andwhile mademoiselle re-adjusted the tiny flowers which formed the bouquetshe had just presented to her, Mrs. Marston good-naturedly recounted toher all she knew of Sir Wynston Berkley, which, in substance, amounted tono more than we have already stated. When she concluded, the youngFrenchwoman continued for some time silent, still busy with herflowers. But, suddenly, she heaved a deep sigh, and shook her head.

  "You seem disquieted, mademoiselle," said Mrs. Marston, in a toneof kindness.

  "I am thinking, madame," she said, still looking upon the flowers whichshe was adjusting, and again sighing profoundly, "I am thinking of whatyou said to me a week ago; alas!"

  "I do not remember what it was, my good mademoiselle--nothing, I amsure, that ought to grieve you--at least nothing that was intended tohave that effect," replied the lady, in a tone of gentle encouragement.

  "No, not intended, madame," said the young Frenchwoman, sorrowfully.

  "Well, what was it? Perhaps you misunderstood; perhaps I can explain whatI said," replied Mrs. Marston, affectionately.

  "Ah, madame, you think--you think I am unlucky," answered the younglady, slowly and faintly.

  "Unlucky! Dear mademoiselle, you surprise me," rejoined her companion.

  "I mean--what I mean is this, madame; you date unhappiness--if not itsbeginning, at least its great aggravation and increase," she answered,dejectedly, "from the time of my coming here, madame; and though I knowyou are too good to dislike me on that account, yet I must, in your eyes,be ever connected with calamity, and look like an ominous thing."

  "Dear mademoiselle, allow no such thought to enter your mind. You do megreat wrong, indeed you do," said Mrs. Marston, laying her hand upon theyoung lady's, kindly.

  There was a silence for a little time, and the elder lady resumed:--"Iremember now what you allude to, dear mademoiselle--the increasedestrangement, the widening separation which severs me from oneunutterably dear to me--the first and bitter disappointment of my life,which seems to grow more hopelessly incurable day by day."

  Mrs. Marston paused, and, after a brief silence, the governess said:--

  "I am very superstitious myself, dear madame, and I thought I must haveseemed to you an inauspicious inmate--in short, unlucky--as I have said;and the thought made me very unhappy--so unhappy, that I was going toleave you, madame--I may now tell you frankly--going away; but you haveset my doubts at rest, and I am quite happy again."

  "Dear mademoiselle," cried the lady, tenderly, and rising, as she spake,to kiss the cheek of her humble friend; "never--never speak of thisagain. God knows I have too few friends on earth, to spare the kindestand tenderest among them all. No, no. You little think what comfort Ihave found in your warm-hearted and ready sympathy, and how dearly Iprize your affection, my poor mademoiselle."

  The young Frenchwoman rose, with downcast eyes, and a dimpling, happysmile; and, as Mrs. Marston drew her affectionately toward her, andkissed her, she timidly returned the embrace of her kind patroness. For amoment her graceful arms encircled her, and she whispered to her, "Dearmadame, how happy--how very happy you make me."

  Had Ithuriel touched with his spear the beautiful young woman, thus for amoment, as it seemed, lost in a trance of gratitude and love, would thatangelic form have stood the test unscathed? A spectator, marking thescene, might have observed a strange gleam in her eyes--a strangeexpression in her face--an influence for a moment not angelic, like ashadow of some passing spirit, cross her visibly, as she leaned over thegentle lady's neck, and murmured, "Dear madame, how happy--how very happyyou make me." Such a spectator, as he looked at that gentle lady, mighthave seen, for one dreamy moment, a lithe and painted serpent, coiledround and round, and hissing in her ear.

  A few minutes more, and mademoiselle was in the solitude of her ownapartment. She shut and bolted the door, and taking from her desk theletter which she had that morning received, threw herself into anarmchair, and studied the document profoundly. Her actual revision andscrutiny of the letter itself was interrupted by long intervals ofprofound abstraction; and, after a full hour thus spent, she locked itcarefully up again, and with a clear brow, and a gay smile, rejoined herpretty pupil for a walk.

  We must now pass over an interval of a few days, and come at once to thearrival of Sir Wynston Berkley, which duly occurred upon the evening ofthe day appointed. The baronet descended from his chaise but a shorttime before the hour at which the little party, which formed the familyat Gray Forest were wont to assemble for the social meal of supper. A fewminutes devoted to the mysteries of the toilet, with the aid of anaccomplished valet, enabled him to appear, as he conceived, withoutdisadvantage at this domestic reunion.

  Sir Wynston Berkley was a particularly gentleman-like person. He wasrather tall, and elegantly made, with gay, easy manners, and somethingindefinably aristocratic in his face, which, however, was a little moreworn than his years would have strictly accounted for. But Sir Wynstonhad been a roue, and, spite of the cleverest possible making up, theravages of excess were very traceable in the lively beau of fifty.Perfectly well dressed, and with a manner that was ease and gaietyitself, he was at home from the moment he entered the room. Of course,anything like genuine cordiality was out of the question; but Mr. Marstonembraced his relative with perfect good breeding, and the baronetappeared determined to like everybody, and be pleased with everything. Hehad not been five minutes in the parlor, chatting gaily with Mr. and Mrs.Marston and their pretty daughter, when Mademoiselle de Barras enteredthe room. As she moved towards Mrs. Marston, Sir Wynston rose, and,observing her with evident admiration, said in an undertone, inquiringly,to Marston, who was beside him--

  "And this?"

  "That is Mademoiselle de Barras, my daughter's governess, and Mrs.Marston's companion," said Marston, drily.

  "Ha!" said Sir Wynston; "I thought you were but three at home just now,and I was right. Your son is at Cambridge; I heard so from our oldfriend, Jack Manbury. Jack has his boy there too. Egad, Dick, it seemsbut last week that you and I were there together."

  "Yes," said Marston, looking gloomily into the fire, as if he saw, in itssmoke and flicker, the phantoms of murdered time and opportunity; "but Ihate looking back, Wynston. The past is to me but a medley of ill-luckand worse management."

  "Why what an ungrateful dog you are!" returned Sir Wynston, gaily,turning his back upon the fire, and glancing round the spacious andhandsome, though somewhat faded apartment. "I was on the point ofcongratulating you on the possession of the finest park and noblestdemesne in Cheshire, when you begin to grumble. Egad, Dick, all I can sayto your complaint is, that I don't pity you, and there are dozens who mayhonestly envy you--that is all."

  In spite of this cheering assurance, Marston remained sullenly silent.Supper, however, had now been served, and the little party assumed theirplaces at the table.

  "I am sorry, Wynston, I have no sport of any kind to offer you here,"said Marston, "except, indeed, some good trout-fishing, if you like it. Ihave three miles of excellent fishing at your command."

  "My dear fellow, I am a mere cockney," rejoined Sir Wynston; "I am not asportsman; I never tried it, and should not like to begin now. No, Dick,what I much prefer is, abundance of your fresh air, and the enjoyment ofyour scenery. When I was at Rouen three years ago--"

  "Ha!--Rouen? Mademoise
lle will feel an interest in that; it is herbirth-place," interrupted Marston, glancing at the Frenchwoman.

  "Yes--Rouen--ah--yes!" said mademoiselle, with very evidentembarrassment.

  Sir Wynston appeared for a moment a little disconcerted too, butrallied speedily, and pursued his detail of his doings at that fair townof Normandy.

  Marston knew Sir Wynston well; and he rightly calculated that whatevereffect his experience of the world might have had in intensifying hisselfishness or hardening his heart, it certainly could have had none inimproving a character originally worthless and unfeeling. He knew,moreover, that his wealthy cousin was gifted with a great deal of thatsmall cunning which is available for masking the little scheming offrivolous and worldly