The Evil Guest Read online

prevent or retardher departure; her resolution was taken. In this strain did mademoisellerun on, but in a subdued and melancholy tone, and weeping profusely.

  The wild and ghastly suspicions which had for a moment flashed terriblyupon the mind of Mrs. Marston, had faded away under the influences ofreason and reflection, although, indeed, much painful excitement stillremained, before Mademoiselle de Barras had visited her room. Marston'stemper she knew but too well; it was violent, bitter, and impetuous; andthough he cared little, if at all, for her, she had ever perceived thathe was angrily jealous of the slightest intimacy or confidence by whichany other than himself might establish an influence over her mind. Thathe had learned the subject of some of her most interesting conversationswith mademoiselle she could not doubt, for he had violently upbraidedthat young lady in her presence with having discussed it, and here nowwas mademoiselle herself taking refuge with her from galling affront andunjust reproach, incensed, wounded, and weeping. The whole thing wasconsistent; all the circumstances bore plainly in the same direction; theevidence was conclusive; and Mrs. Marston's thoughts and feelingsrespecting her fair young confidante quickly found their old level, andflowed on tranquilly and sadly in their accustomed channel.

  While Mademoiselle de Barras was thus, with the persevering industry ofthe spider, repairing the meshes which a chance breath had shattered, shewould, perhaps, have been in her turn shocked and startled, could shehave glanced into Marston's mind, and seen, in what was passing there,the real extent of her danger.

  Marston was walking, as usual, alone, and in the most solitary region ofhis lonely park. One hand grasped his walking stick, not to lean upon it,but as if it were the handle of a battle-axe; the other was buried in hisbosom; his dark face looked upon the ground, and he strode onward with aslow but energetic step, which had the air of deep resolution. He foundhimself at last in a little churchyard, lying far among the wild forestof his demesne, and in the midst of which, covered with ivy and tuftedplants, now ruddy with autumnal tints, stood the ruined walls of a littlechapel. In the dilapidated vault close by lay buried many of hisancestors, and under the little wavy hillocks of fern and nettles, sleptmany an humble villager. He sat down upon a worn tombstone in this lowlyruin, and with his eyes fixed upon the ground, he surrendered his spiritto the stormy and evil thoughts which he had invited. Long and motionlesshe sat there, while his foul fancies and schemes began to assume shapeand order. The wind rushing through the ivy roused him for a moment, andas he raised his gloomy eye it alighted accidentally upon a skull, whichsome wanton hand had fixed in a crevice of the wall. He averted hisglance quickly, but almost as quickly refixed his gaze upon the impassivesymbol of death, with an expression glowering and contemptuous, and withan angry gesture struck it down among the weeds with his stick. He leftthe place, and wandered on through the woods.

  "Men can't control the thoughts that flit across their minds," hemuttered, as he went along, "anymore than they can direct the shadowsof the clouds that sail above them. They come and pass, and leave nostain behind. What, then, of omens, and that wretched effigy ofdeath? Stuff--pshaw! Murder, indeed! I'm incapable of murder. I havedrawn my sword upon a man in fair duel; but murder! Out upon thethought, out upon it."

  He stamped upon the ground with a pang at once of fury and horror. Hewalked on a little, stopped again, and folding his arms, leaned againstan ancient tree.

  "Mademoiselle de Barras, _vous etes une traitresse_, and you shall go.Yes, go you shall; you have deceived me, and we must part."

  He said this with melancholy bitterness; and, after a pause, continued:

  "I will have no other revenge. No; though, I dare say, she will care butlittle for this; very little, if at all."

  "And then, as to the other person," he resumed, after a pause, "it is notthe first time he has acted like a trickster. He has crossed me before,and I will choose an opportunity to tell him my mind. I won't mincematters with him either, and will not spare him one insulting syllablethat he deserves. He wears a sword, and so do I; if he pleases, he maydraw it; he shall have the opportunity; but, at all events, I will makeit impossible for him to prolong his disgraceful visit at my house."

  On reaching home and his own study, the servant, Merton, presentedhimself, and his master, too deeply excited to hear him then, appointedthe next day for the purpose. There was no contending against Marston'speremptory will, and the man reluctantly withdrew. Here was, apparently,a matter of no imaginable moment; whether this menial should bedischarged on that day, or on the morrow; and yet mighty things wereinvolved in the alternative.

  There was a deeper gloom than usual over the house. The servants seemedto know that something had gone wrong, and looked grave and mysterious.Marston was more than ever dark and moody. Mrs. Marston's dimmed andswollen eyes showed that she had been weeping. Mademoiselle absentedherself from supper, on the plea of a bad headache. Rhoda saw thatsomething, she knew not what, had occurred to agitate her elders, and wasdepressed and anxious. The old clergyman, whom we have already mentioned,had called, and stayed to supper. Dr. Danvers was a man of considerablelearning, strong sense, and remarkable simplicity of character. Histhoughtful blue eye, and well-marked countenance, were full of gentlenessand benevolence, and elevated by a certain natural dignity, of whichpurity and goodness, without one debasing shade of self-esteem andarrogance, were the animating spirit. Mrs. Marston loved and respectedthis good minister of God; and many a time had sought and found, in hisgentle and earnest counsels, and in the overflowing tenderness of hissympathy, much comfort and support in the progress of her sore andprotracted earthly trial. Most especially at one critical period in herhistory had he endeared himself to her, by interposing, and successfully,to prevent a formal separation which (as ending forever the one hope thatcheered her on, even in the front of despair) she would probably not longhave survived.

  With Mr. Marston, however, he was far from being a favorite. There wasthat in his lofty and simple purity which abashed and silently reproachedthe sensual, bitter, disappointed man of the world. The angry pride ofthe scornful man felt its own meanness in the grand presence of a simpleand humble Christian minister. And the very fact that all his habits hadled him to hold such a character in contempt, made him but the moreunreasonably resent the involuntary homage which its exhibition in Dr.Danvers's person invariably extorted from him. He felt in this good man'spresence under a kind of irritating restraint; that he was in thepresence of one with whom he had, and could have, no sympathy whatever,and yet one whom he could not help both admiring and respecting; and inthese conflicting feelings were involved certain gloomy and humblinginferences about himself, which he hated, and almost feared tocontemplate.

  It was well, however, for the indulgence of Sir Wynston's conversationalpropensities, that Dr. Danvers had happened to drop in; for Marston wasdoggedly silent and sullen, and Mrs. Marston was herself scarcely moredisposed than he to maintain her part in a conversation; so that, had itnot been for the opportune arrival of the good clergyman, the supper musthave been dispatched with a very awkward and unsocial taciturnity.

  Marston thought, and, perhaps, not erroneously, that Sir Wynstonsuspected something of the real state of affairs, and he was, therefore,incensed to perceive, as he thought, in his manner, very evidentindications of his being in unusually good spirits. Thus disposed, theparty sat down to supper.

  "One of our number is missing," said Sir Wynston, affecting a slightsurprise, which, perhaps, he did not feel.

  "Mademoiselle de Barras--I trust she is well?" said Doctor Danvers,looking towards Marston.

  "I suppose she is; I don't know," said Marston, drily.

  "Why! how should he know," said the baronet, gaily, but with somethingalmost imperceptibly sarcastic in his tone. "Our friend, Marston, isprivileged to be as ungallant as he pleases, except where he has thehappy privilege to owe allegiance; but I, a gay young bachelor of fifty,am naturally curious. I really do trust that our charming French friendis not unwell."

  He addres
sed his inquiry to Mrs. Marston, who, with some slightconfusion, replied:--

  "No; nothing, at least, serious; merely a slight headache. I am sure shewill be quite well enough to come down to breakfast."

  "She is, indeed, a very charming and interesting young person," saidDoctor Danvers. "There is a certain simplicity about her which argues agood and kind heart, and an open nature."

  "Very true, indeed, doctor," observed Berkley, with the same faint, but,to Marston, exquisitely provoking approximation to sarcasm. "There is, asyou say, a very charming simplicity. Don't you think so, Marston?"

  Marston looked at him for a moment, but continued silent.

  "Poor mademoiselle!--she is, indeed, a most affectionate creature," saidMrs. Marston, who felt called upon to say something.

  "Come, Marston,