/ 
 
 vV\'.^S>^ 
 
 .;vf<sSv;- ;„ 
 
 1 PTASTEK 
 
 By the dathor of 
 
 EASTLYHfJi-
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 THE 
 
 MASTER OF GREYLANDS 
 
 :a jxobci. 
 
 Wood, E\lt.r\ (Price.) 
 
 lu OIRS. HENRY WOOD, 
 
 // 
 
 AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE 
 
 r •N-' T " 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON. 
 
 1873. 
 
 (All Ri^ltts Racrz'ed. )
 
 rK-sBA Z 
 
 V. 
 
 -\
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAPTER PACK 
 
 I. IN THE BANK PARLOUR . . . T 
 
 II. THE GREY LADIES . . . -25 
 
 III. AT THE DOLPHIN INN . . -53 
 
 IV. FORESHADOWINGS OF EVIL . -75 
 V. THE BALL . . . . . I OO 
 
 VI. ANTHONY CASTLEMAINE ON HIS SEARCH . 1 23 
 
 VII, IN THE MOONLIGHT . . . .152 
 
 VIII. COMMOTION AT STILBOROUGH . -177 
 
 IX. A CURIOUS STORY . . . . 20I 
 
 X. JUST AS SHE HAD SEEN IT IN HER DREAM . 229 
 
 XI. INSIDE THE NUNNERY . . . 260 
 
 XII. MADAME GUISE .... 294 
 
 XIII. A STORM OF WIND . ■ . . ' 3'^7
 
 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IN THE BANK PARLOUR. 
 
 TILBOROUGH. An old-fashioned 
 market-town of some importance in 
 its district, but not the chief town 
 of the county. It was market-day : 
 Thursday : and the streets wore an air of 
 bustle, farmers and other country people 
 passing and re-passing from the corn-market 
 to their respective inns, or perhaps from their 
 visit, generally a weekly one, to the banker's. 
 In the heart of the town, where the street 
 was wide and the buildings were good, stood 
 the bank. It was nearly contiguous to the 
 town-hall on the one hand, and to the old 
 
 VOL. 1. I
 
 2 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 church of St. Mark on the other, and was 
 opposite the new market-house, where the 
 farmers' wives and daut^hters sat with their 
 butter and pouhry. For in those days — many 
 a year ago now — people had not leaped up 
 above their own sphere ; and the farmers' 
 wives would have thought they were going to 
 ruin outright had anybody but themselves 
 kept market. A very large and handsome 
 house, this bank, the residence of its owner 
 and master, Mr. Peter Castlemaine. 
 
 No name stood higher than Mr. Peter 
 Castlemaine's. Though of sufficiently good 
 descent, he was, so to say, a self-made man. 
 Beginning in a small way in early life, he had 
 risen by degrees to what he now was — to 
 what he had long been — the chief banker in 
 the county. People left the county-town to 
 bank with him ; in all his undertakings he was 
 supposed to be flourishing ; in realized funds 
 a small millionnaire. 
 
 The afternoon drew to a close ; the business 
 of the day was over ; the clerks were putting 
 the last touches to their accounts previous to 
 departing, and Mr. Peter Castlemaine sat 
 alone in his private room. It was a spacious 
 apartment, comfortably and even luxuriously 
 furnished for a room devoted solely to business
 
 IN THE BANK PARLOUR. 3 
 
 purposes. But the banker had never been one 
 of those who seem to think that a hard chair 
 and a bare chamber are necessary to the 
 labour that brings success. The rich crimson 
 carpet with its soft thick rug threw a warmth 
 of colouring on the room, the fire flashed and 
 sparkled in the grate : for the month was 
 February and the weather yet wintry. 
 
 Before his own desk, in a massive and 
 luxurious arm-chair, sat Mr. Peter Castle- 
 maine. He was a tall, slender, and handsome 
 man, fifty-one years of age this same month. 
 His hair was dark, his eyes were brown, his 
 good complexion was yet clear and bright. 
 In manner he was a courteous man, but 
 naturally a silent one ; rather remarkably so ; 
 his private character and his habits were un- 
 exceptionable. 
 
 No one ever had a moment's access to this 
 desk at which he sat : even his confidential 
 old clerk could not remember to have been 
 sent to it for any paper or deed that might be 
 wanted in the public rooms. The lid of the 
 desk drew over and closed with a spring, so 
 that in one instant its contents could be hidden 
 from view and made safe and fast. The long 
 table in the middle of the room was to-day 
 more than usually covered with 'papers; a 
 
 I — 2
 
 4 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 small marble slab between Mr. Peter Castle- 
 maine's left hand and the wall held sundry 
 open ledgers piled one upon another, to which 
 he kept referring. Column after column of 
 figures : the very sight of them enough to 
 o^ive an unfinancial man the nio^htmare : but 
 the banker ran his fingers up and down the 
 rows at railroad speed, for, to him, it was 
 mere child's play. Seldom has there existed 
 a clearer head for his work than that of Peter 
 Castlemaine. But for that fact he might not 
 have been seated where he was to-day, the 
 o^reatest banker for miles round. 
 
 And yet, as he sat there, surrounded by 
 these marks and tokens of wealth and power, 
 his face presented a sad contrast to them and 
 to the ease and luxury of the room. Sad, 
 careworn, anxious, looked he ; and, as he now 
 and again paused in his work to pass his hand 
 over his brow, a heavy sigh escaped him. 
 The more he referred to his ledgers, and 
 compared them with figures and papers on 
 the desk before him, so much the more per- 
 plexed and harassed did his face become. In 
 his eyes there was the look of a hunted 
 animal, the look of a drowning man catching 
 at a straw, the look that must have been in 
 the eyes -of poor Louis Dixhuit when they
 
 IN THE BANK PARLOUR. $ 
 
 discovered him in his disofuise and turned his 
 horses' heads backwards. At last, throwing 
 down his pen, he fell back in his chair, and 
 hid his face in his hands. 
 
 "No escape," he murmured, "no escape! 
 Unless a miracle should supervene, I am 
 undone." 
 
 He remained in this attitude, that told so 
 unmistakably of despair, for some minutes, 
 revolving- many things : problems working 
 themselves in and out of his brain confusedly, 
 as a man works in and out of a labyrinth, to 
 which he has lost the clue. A small clock on 
 the mantelpiece struck the hour, five, and 
 then chimed an air once popular in France. 
 It was a costly trifle that the banker had 
 bought years ago. Paintings, articles of 
 vertu, objects de luxe, had always possessed 
 attractions for him. 
 
 The chimes aroused him. " I must talk to 
 Hill," he muttered : " no use In putting it off 
 till another day." And he touched the 
 spring of his small hand-bell. 
 
 In answer, the door opened, and there 
 entered a little elderly man with snow-white 
 hair worn long behind, and a good-looking, 
 fair, and intellectual face, its blue eyes beam- 
 ing with benevolence. He wore a black tail
 
 6 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 coat, according to the custom of clerks of that 
 day, and a white cambric frilled shirt like 
 that of his master. It was Thomas Hill ; for 
 many years Mr. Peter Castlemaine's confi- 
 dential clerk and rio^ht hand. 
 
 " Come in, Hill ; come in," said the banker. 
 " Close the door — and lock it." 
 
 " The clerks are gone, sir ; the last has 
 just left," was the reply. But the old man 
 nevertheless turned the key of the door. 
 
 Mr. Peter Castlemaine pointed to a seat 
 close to him ; and his clerk, quiet in all his 
 movements, as in the tones of his voice, took 
 it in silence. For a full minute they looked 
 at each other ; Thomas Hill's face reflecting 
 the uneasiness of his master's. He was the 
 first to speak. 
 
 " I know it, sir," he said, his manner be- 
 traying the deepest respect and sympathy. " I 
 have seen it coming for a long while. So have 
 you, sir. Why have you not confided in me 
 before ?" 
 
 " I cotild not," breathed Mr. Peter Castle- 
 maine. " I wanted to put it from me. Hill, 
 as a thing that could never really be. It has 
 never come so near as it has come now, Hill ; 
 it has never been so real as at this moment 
 of outspoken words,"
 
 TiY THE BANK PARLOUR, 7 
 
 " It was not my place to take the initiative, 
 sir ; but I was wishing always that you would 
 speak to me. I could but place facts and 
 figures before you and point to results, com- 
 pare past balances with present ones, other 
 years' speculations with last year's, and — and 
 give you the opportunity of opening the sub- 
 ject with me. But you never would open it." 
 
 " I have told you why. Hill," said Peter 
 Castlemaine. " I strove to throw the whole 
 trouble from me. It was a weak, mistaken 
 feeling ; nine men out of every ten would 
 have been actuated by it under similar cir- 
 cumstances. And yet," he continued, half in 
 soliloquy, " I never was much like other men, 
 and I never knew myself to be weak." 
 
 " Never weak ; never weak," responded 
 the faithful clerk, affectionately. 
 
 " I don't know, H ill : I feel so now. This has 
 been to me long as a far-off monster, creeping 
 onwards by degrees, advancing each day by 
 stealthy steps more ominously near : and now 
 it is close at hand, ready to crush me." 
 
 " I seem not to understand it," said poor 
 Hill. 
 
 " And there are times when I cannot," re- 
 turned Mr. Peter Castlemaine. 
 
 "In the old days, sir, everything you handled
 
 8 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 turned to gold. You had but to take up a 
 speculation, and it was sure to turn out a 
 grand success. Why, sir, your name has be- 
 come quite a proverb for luck. If Castlemaine 
 the banker s name is to it, say people of any 
 new undertaking, it must succeed. But for 
 some time past things have changed, and in- 
 stead of success, it has been failure. Sir, 
 it is just as though your hand had lost its 
 cunning." 
 
 "Right, Hill," sighed his master, "my hand 
 seems to have lost its cunning. It is — I have 
 said it over and over again to myself — just as 
 though some curse pursued me. Ill luck ; 
 nothino; but ill luck ! If a scheme has looked 
 fair and promising to-day, a blight has fallen 
 on it to-morrow. And I, like a fool, as I see 
 now, plunged into fresh ventures, hoping to 
 redeem the last one. How few of us are 
 there who know how to pull up in time ! 
 Were all known, the public would say that 
 the mania of gambling must have taken hold 
 of me — " 
 
 " No, no," murmured the clerk. 
 
 " When it was but the recklessness of 
 
 a drowning man. Why, Hill — if I could get 
 in the money, at present due to me, money 
 that I think will come in, perhaps shortly,
 
 IN THE BANK' PARLOUR. 9 
 
 thoug'h it is locked up now, we should weather 
 the storm." 
 
 "I trust it will be weathered, sir, somehow. 
 At the worst, it will not be a bad failure ; 
 there'll be twenty shillings in the pound if 
 they will but wait. Perhaps if you called a 
 private meeting and pointed things out, and 
 showed them that it is only time you want, 
 they'd consent to let you have it. Matters 
 would go on then, and there'd be no ex- 
 posure." 
 
 " It is the want of time that will crush me," 
 said Peter Castlemaine. 
 
 " But if they will allow you time, sir ?" 
 
 " All will not," was the significant answer, 
 and Mr. Peter Castlemaine lowered his voice 
 as he spoke it, and looked full at his clerk. 
 " You know those Armannon bonds .'*" 
 
 Whether it was the tone, the look, or the 
 question, certain it was that in that instant an 
 awful dread, an instinct of evil, seized upon 
 the old m.an. His face turned white. 
 
 " I had to nse those bonds. Hill," whis- 
 pered his master. " To mortgage them, )'ou 
 understand. But, as I am a living man, I 
 believed when I did it that in less than a 
 week they would be redeemed and replaced." 
 
 " jNIortgaged the Armannon bonds !" ejacu-
 
 lo THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 lated Thomas Hill, utterly unable to take In 
 the fact, and looking the picture of horror. 
 
 " And they are not yet redeemed." 
 
 The clerk wrung his hands. " My master ! 
 my friend and master ! How could you ? 
 Surely it was done in a moment of madness !" 
 
 " Of weakness, of wickedness, if you will, 
 Thomas, but not madness. I was as sane as 
 I am now. You remember the large pay- 
 ment we had to make last AuQfust ? It had 
 to be made, you know, or things would have 
 come to a crisis then. I used the bonds to 
 raise the money." 
 
 " But I — I cannot comprehend," returned 
 the clerk slowly, after casting his recollection 
 back. " I thought you borrowed that money 
 from Mr. Castlemaine." 
 
 " No. Mr. Castlemaine would not lend it 
 me. I don't know whether he smelt a rat 
 and got afraid for the rest I hold of his. 
 What he said was, that he had not so large a 
 sum at his disposal. Or, it may be," added 
 the banker in a dreamy kind of tone, " that 
 James thought I was only going into some 
 fresh speculation, and considers I am rich 
 enough already. How little he knows !" 
 
 " Oh, but these deeds must be redeemed !" 
 cried the old clerk, risino- from his seat in ex-
 
 IN THE BA NK PA RL OUR. 1 1 
 
 citement. *' At all sacrifice they must be got 
 back, sir. If you have to sell up all, houses, 
 and land, and else, they must be returned to 
 their safe resting-place. You must not longer 
 run this dreadful risk, sir : the fear of it would 
 bring me down in suspense and sorrow to my 
 grave." 
 
 " Then, what do you suppose it has been 
 doing for me ?" rejoined Mr. Peter Castle- 
 maine. " Many a time and oft since, I have 
 said to myself, ' Next week shall see those 
 bonds replaced.' But the ' next week ' has 
 never come : for I have had to use all avail- 
 able cash to prop up the falling house and 
 keep it from sinking. Once down. Hill, the 
 truth about the bonds could no longer be con- 
 cealed." 
 
 " You must sell all, sir." 
 
 " There s notJdiLg left to sell, Thomas^' said 
 his master. " At least, nothing immediately 
 available. It is time that is wanted. Given 
 that, I could put things straight again." 
 
 A trying silence. Thomas Hill's face was 
 full of pain and dread, " I have a little 
 accumulated money of my own, sir : some of 
 it I've saved, some came to me when my 
 brother died," he said. " It is about six 
 thousand pounds, and I have neither chick
 
 12 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 nor child. Every shilling of it shall be yours, 
 sir ; as soon as I can withdraw it from where 
 it is invested." 
 
 His master grasped his hands. " Faithful 
 man and friend !" he cried, the tears of emo- 
 tion dimming his brown eyes. " Do you 
 think I would accept the sacrifice and bring 
 you to ruin as I have brought myself ? Never 
 that. Hill." 
 
 " The money shall be yours, sir," repeated 
 the clerk, firmly. 
 
 " Hush, hush !" cried Mr. Peter Castle- 
 maine. " Though I were dying of shame and 
 hunger, I would not take it. And, do you 
 not see, my friend, that it would be a useless 
 sacrifice ? Six thousand pounds would be 
 swallowed up unheeded in the vortex : it 
 would be but as a drop of water to the heav- 
 ing ocean." 
 
 It was even so. Thomas Hill saw it. 
 They sat down together and went into the 
 books : the banker showingf him amounts and 
 involvements that he had never suspected 
 before. The ruin seemed to be close at 
 hand ; there seemed to be no possible way 
 out of it. Common ruin Thomas Hill mip"ht 
 have got over in time ; but this ruin, the ruin 
 that threatened his master, would have turned
 
 IN THE BANK PARLOUR. IJ 
 
 his hair white in a night had time not already 
 turned it. 
 
 And crimes were more heavily punished 
 in those days than they are in these. 
 
 At a quarter to six o'clock, Peter Castle- 
 maine was in his dining-room, dressed for 
 dinner. He often had friends to dine with 
 him on market-days, and was expecting some 
 that night : a small social party of half a dozen, 
 himself included. He stood with his back to 
 the fire, his brow smoothed, his aspect that of 
 complete ease ; he could hear his butler com- 
 ing up the stairs to show in the first guest. 
 All the dwelling-rooms were on this first 
 floor, the ground-floor being entirely appro- 
 priated to business. 
 
 " Mr. Castlemaine." 
 
 The two brothers met in the middle of the 
 room and shook hands. Mr. Castlemaine 
 was the elder by two years, but he did not 
 look so, and there was a very great likeness 
 between them. Fine, upright, handsome men, 
 both; with clear, fresh faces, well cut features, 
 and keen, flashing, dark eyes. Very pleasant 
 men to talk to ; but silent men as to their own 
 affairs. Mr. Castlemaine had just come in 
 from his residence, Greylands' Rest : it was 
 in contradistinction to him that the banker
 
 14 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 was invariably called Mr. Peter Castle- 
 maine. 
 
 " All well at home, James ?" 
 
 " Quite so, thank you." 
 
 " You were not in at market, to-day." 
 
 " No : I had nothing particular to call me 
 in. Are you expecting a large party this 
 evenino- ?" 
 
 " Only six of us. Here comes another."' 
 
 The butler's step was again heard. But 
 this time he came not to announce a pfuest 
 but to bring a note, just delivered. Peter 
 Castlemaine's hand shook slightly as he 
 opened it. He dreaded all letters now. It 
 proved, however, to be only an excuse from 
 one of the expected guests : and a strange 
 relief sat on his face as he turned to his 
 brother. 
 
 " Lawrence can't come, James. So there'll 
 te but five of us." 
 
 " Lawrence is not much loss," said Mr. 
 Castlemaine, slightingly. " You don't look 
 quite yourself, Peter," he added to his 
 brother; something in the latter's counte- 
 nance having struck his observant eye. " I 
 think you are working too hard ; have thought 
 so for some time. Don't let the love of money 
 take all pleasure out of life. Surely you must
 
 JN THE BANK PARLOUR. 15 
 
 have made enough, and might now take some 
 rest. 
 
 The banker laughed. " As to taking rest, 
 that's easier recommended than done, James. 
 I am too young to give up work yet : I should 
 be like a fish out of water." 
 
 " Ah well — we are all, I expect, wedded to 
 our work — whatever it may be : creatures of 
 habit," admitted Mr. Castlemaine. " I will 
 just go and see Mary Ursula. She's in her 
 room, I suppose. What a treasure }ou 
 possess in that gu-1, Peter !" 
 
 " Beyond the wealth of Solomon ; beyond 
 all price," was the impulsive answer, and 
 Peter Castlemaine's face glowed as he said it. 
 " Yes, you will find her in her room, James." 
 
 Mr. Castlemaine went to the end of the 
 wide and handsome passage, its walls lined 
 with paintings, its floor covered with a carpet, 
 rich and soft as moss, and knocked at a door 
 there. A sweet voice bade him enter. 
 
 The small, choice room was brilliantly 
 lighted with wax tapers ; the fire threw a 
 warmth on its dainty furniture. A stately 
 lady, tall, slight, and very beautiful, who bad 
 been working at a sketch, put down her 
 pencil, and rose. It was ]\Iiss Castlemaine, 
 the banker's only child : as fair a picture as
 
 1 6 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 could be found in the world. She wore a 
 white muslin dress, made low in the fashion 
 of the day. On her queen-like neck was a 
 string of pearls ; bracelets of pearls clasped 
 her pretty arms. Her face was indeed beauti- 
 ful : it was like her father's face, but more 
 delicately carved ; the complexion was of a 
 paler and fairer tint ; her brown eyes, instead 
 of flashing, as his did in his youth, had a 
 subdued, almost a sad look in them. It was 
 one of the sweetest faces ever seen, but alto- 
 gether its pervading expression was that of 
 sadness : an expression that in her childhood 
 had led many an old woman to say, " She is 
 too good to live." She had lived, however, 
 in the best of strength and health, until now, 
 when she was in her hve-and-twentieth year. 
 An accomplished lady, she, very much so for 
 those days, and of great good sense ; her 
 conversational powers rare; a sound musician, 
 and a fair linguist, fond of sketching and 
 painting in water-colours. With it all, she 
 was particularly gentle in manner, modest and 
 retiring as a woman should be : there was at 
 all times a repose upon her that seemed to 
 exhale repose, and was most charming. Her 
 father loved her with an ardent love ; he had 
 lost his wife, and this child was all-in-all to
 
 IN THE BANK PARLOUR. 17 
 
 him. But for her sake, he might not have 
 dreaded the comino:' disorrace with the intense 
 horror he did dread it. His happiest hours 
 were spent with her. In the twiHght he 
 would sit in the music-room, Hstening to her 
 playing on the piano, or on the sweet-toned 
 organ he had had built for her — the tones 
 not more sweet thousfh than her own voice 
 when raised in song. Her gift of extempor- 
 ising was of no mean order ; and as the 
 banker sat listening to the organ's sounds, its 
 rise and fall, its swelling and dying away, he 
 would forget his cares. She was engaged to 
 William Blake-Gordon, the eldest son of Sir 
 Richard Blake-Gordon ; a poor, but very 
 haughty baronet, unduly proud of his descent. 
 But for the vast amount of money Miss 
 Castlemaine was expected to inherit, Sir 
 Richard had never condescended to orive his 
 consent to the match : but the young man 
 loved her for her own sake. Just now Miss 
 Castlemaine was alone : the lady, Mrs. Webb, 
 who resided with her as chaperone and com- 
 panion, having been called away by the ill- 
 ness of a near relative. One word as to her 
 name — Mary Ursula. A somewhat long 
 name to pronounce, but it was rarely short- 
 ened by her ^relatives. The name had been 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 1 8 THE MASTER OF CREYLANDS. 
 
 old Mrs. Castlemaine's, her grandmother's, 
 and was revered in the Castlemaine family. 
 
 " I knew it was you, Uncle James," she 
 said, meeting him with both hands extended. 
 " I knew you would come in to see me." 
 
 He took her hands in one of his and 
 touched fondly her beautiful hair, that so well 
 set-off the small and shapely head, and kissed 
 her fondly. Mr. Castlemaine was fond of 
 his niece, and very proud of her. 
 
 " Your face is cold. Uncle James." 
 
 " Fresh with the out-of-door cold, my dear. 
 I walked in." 
 
 " All the way from Greylands !" 
 
 He laughed at her "all the way." It was 
 but three miles ; scarcely that. " I felt in- 
 clined for the walk, Mary Ursula. The car- 
 riage will come in to take me home." 
 
 " Is Ethel well. Uncle James ? And — 
 Mrs. Castlemaine T 
 
 " Quite so, my dear. What are you doing 
 here ?" 
 
 She had sat down to the table again, and 
 he bent his head over her to look at her 
 drawing. There was a moment's silence, 
 
 " Why it is — it is the Friar's Keep !" ex- 
 claimed Mr. Castlemaine. 
 
 " Yes," she answered. " I sketched its out-
 
 IN THE BANK PARLOUR. 19 
 
 lines when at your house last summer, and I 
 have never filled it in until now." 
 
 She sketched as she did everything else— 
 almost perfecdy. The resemblance was exact, 
 and Mr. Castlemaine said so. " It seems to 
 me already completed !" he observed, 
 
 " All but the shading of the sky in the 
 back-ground." 
 
 " Why have you made those two windows 
 darker than the rest ?" 
 
 Miss Castlemaine smiled as she answered 
 jestingly. " I thought there should be no 
 opportunity given for the appearance of the 
 Grey Friar in my drawing, Uncle James." 
 
 Mr. Castlemaine drew in his lips with a 
 peculiar twist. The jest pleased him. 
 
 " Have you seen much of the Grey Sisters 
 lately. Uncle James ?" 
 
 This did not please him. And Mary 
 Ursula, as she caught the involuntary frown 
 that knitted his bold brow, felt vexed to have 
 asked the question. Not for the first time, as 
 she well recalled, had Mr. Castlemaine shown 
 displeasure at the mention of the " Grey 
 Sisters." 
 
 " Why do you not like them, Uncle James?" 
 
 " I cannot help thinking that Greylands 
 might get on better if it were rid of them," 
 
 2 — 2
 
 20 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 was the short reply of Mr. Castlemaine. But 
 he passed at once from the subject. 
 
 " And we are not to have this fair young 
 lady-hostess at the dinner-table's-head to- 
 night ?" he cried in a different and a warm 
 tone, as he gazed affectionately at his niece. 
 " Mary Ursula, it is a sin. I wish some cus- 
 toms were changed ! And you will be all 
 alone !" 
 
 " * Never less alone than when alone,' '" 
 quoted Mary Ursula : " and that is true of 
 me, uncle mine. But to-night I shall not be 
 alone in any sense, for Agatha Mountsorrel 
 is coming to bear me company." 
 
 " Ao^atha Mountsorrel ! I don't care for 
 her, Mary Ursula. She is desperately high 
 and mighty." 
 
 " All the Mountsorrels are that — with their 
 good descent and their wealth, T suppose 
 they think they have cause for it — but I 
 like her. And I fancy that is her carriage 
 stopping now. There's six o'clock, uncle ; 
 and you will be keeping the soup waiting." 
 
 Six was striking from the room's silver-gilt 
 time-piece. " I suppose I must go," said Mr. 
 Castlemaine. " I'd rather stay and spend the 
 evening with you." 
 
 " Oh Uncle James, think of the baked
 
 IN THE BANK PARLOUR. U 
 
 meats !" she laughed. " Of the nectar- 
 
 I" 
 cup! 
 
 " What are baked meats and a nectar-cup 
 to the brightness of thine eyes, to the sweet 
 discourse of thy Hps ? There's not thy peer 
 in this world, Mary Ursula." 
 
 '* Uncle, uncle, you would spoil me. Flat- 
 tery is like a subtle poison, that in time de- 
 stroys sound health." 
 
 ** Fare you well, my dear. I will come and 
 say good night to you before I leave." 
 
 As Air. Castlemaine trod the corridor, he 
 met Miss Mountsorrel coming up : a hand- 
 some, haughty girl in a scarlet cloak and 
 hood. She returned his salute with a sweep- 
 ing bow, and passed on her way in silence. 
 
 The dinner was one of those perfect little 
 repasts that the banker was renowned for. 
 The three other guests were Sir Richard 
 Blake-Gordon ; the Reverend John Marston, 
 vicar of St. Mark's and also of Greylands, 
 generally called by the public " Parson 
 INIas'on ;" and Mr. Knivett, family solicitor 
 to the Castlemaines. The wines were excel- 
 lent ; the reunion was altogether sociable and 
 pleasant ; and the banker's brow gave no in- 
 dication of the strife within. It's true Mr. 
 Marston took his full share of the wine — as
 
 22 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 many a parson then appeared to think it quite 
 reHeious to do — and talked rather too much 
 accordingly. But the guests enjoyed them- 
 selves ; and broke up before eleven. Mr. 
 Castlemaine, who could drink his wine with 
 any man, but took care never to take more 
 than he could carry as a gentleman, proceeded 
 to his niece's room to say good night to her ; 
 as he had promised to do. 
 
 " I hope I have not kept you up, my dear," 
 he began as he entered. 
 
 " Oh no, Uncle James," was Mary Ursula's 
 answer. " I never go to bed until I have 
 sung the evening hymn to papa." 
 
 "Where's Miss Mountsorrel ?" 
 
 " The carriage came for her at ten o'clock." 
 
 " And pray where's Master William, that 
 he has not been here this evening ?" 
 
 She blushed like a summer rose. " Do 
 you think he is here evei^y evening, Uncle 
 James ? Mrs. Webb warned him in time 
 that it would not be etiquette, especially while 
 she was away. And how have you enjoyed 
 yourself?" 
 
 " Passably. The baked meats you spoke 
 of were tempting; the nectar good. Of 
 which nectar, in the shape of after-dinner port^ 
 the parson took slightly more than was neces-
 
 m THE BANK PARLOUR. 23 
 
 sary. What toast, do you suppose, he sud- 
 denly grave us ?" 
 
 " How can I tell, Uncle James," she re- 
 joined, looking- up. 
 
 "We were talking of you at the moment, 
 and the parson rose to his legs, his glass in 
 his hand. ' Here's to the fairest and sweetest 
 maiden in the universe,' said he, * and may she 
 soon be Lady Blake-Gordon !' " 
 
 " Oh, how could he !" exclaimed Miss 
 Castlemaine, colouring painfully in her dis- 
 tress. "■ And Sir Richard present !" 
 
 " As to Sir Richard, I thought he was 
 going frantic. You know what he is. ' Zounds! 
 Sir Parson,' he cried, starting up in his turn, 
 ' do you wish me dead ? Is it not enough 
 that the young lady should first become Mis- 
 tress Blake-Gordon ? Am I so old and use- 
 less as to be wished out of the world for the 
 sake of my son's aggrandisement ?' — and so 
 on. Marston pacified him at last, protesting 
 that he had only said Mistress Blake-Gordon ; 
 or that, if he had not, he had meant to say it. 
 And now, good night, my dear, for I don't 
 care to keep my horses standing longer in the 
 cold. When are you coming to stay at Grey- 
 lands' Rest ?" 
 
 " Whenever you like to invite me, Uncle
 
 24 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS . 
 
 James. I wish you could get papa over for 
 a week. It would give him rest : and he has 
 not appeared to be well of late. He seems 
 full of care." 
 
 " Of business, my dear ; not care. Though, 
 of course, undertakings such as his must bring 
 care with them. You propose it to him ; and 
 come with him : if he will come for anybody's 
 asking, it is yours." 
 
 " You will give my love to Ethel ; and " 
 
 Mr. Castlemaine, stooping to kiss her, 
 arrested the words with a whisper. 
 
 "■ When is it to be, Mary Ursula ? When 
 shall we be called upon to congratulate Mis- 
 tress Blake-Gordon ? Soon ?" 
 
 " Oh uncle, I don't know." And she 
 laughed and blushed, and felt confused at the 
 outspoken words : but in her inmost heart 
 was as happy as a queen.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE GREY LADIES. 
 
 town 
 
 ROMANTIC, picturesque fishing" 
 village was that of Greylands, as 
 secluded as any English village can 
 well be. Stilborouo-li was an inland 
 Greylands was built on the sea-coast. 
 The London coaches, on their way from S til- 
 borough to the great city, would traverse the 
 nearly three miles of dreary road intervening 
 between the town and the village, dash suddenly, 
 as it were, upon the sea on entering the village, 
 and then turn sharply off in its midst by the 
 Dolphin Inn, and go on its inland road again. 
 As to London, it was so far off, or seemed so 
 in those quiet, nontravelling days, that the 
 villagers would as soon have expected to 
 undertake a journey to the moon. 
 
 The first object to be seen on drawing near
 
 26 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 to Greylands from Stilborough, was the small 
 church ; an old stone building on the left 
 hand, with its grave-yard around it. On the 
 opposite side of the road the cliffs rose high, 
 and the sea could not be seen for them. 
 The Reverend John Marston held the living 
 of Greylands in conjunction with St. Mark's 
 at Stilborough : the two had always gone 
 together, and the combined income was but 
 poor. Mr. Marston was fond of fox-hunting 
 in winter, and of good dinners at all seasons : 
 as many other parsons were. Greylands did 
 not get much benefit from him. He was non- 
 resident, as the parsons there had always 
 been, for he lived at St. Mark's. Of course 
 with two churches and only one parson to 
 serve both, the services could but clash, for 
 nobody can be doing duty in two places at 
 once. Once a month, on the tJiird Sunday, 
 Mr. Marston scuffled over to Greylands to 
 hold morning service, beginning at twelve, he 
 having scuffled through the prayers (no ser- 
 mon that day) at St. Mark's first. On the 
 three other Sundays he held the Greylands 
 service at three in the afternoon. So that, 
 except for this Sunday service, held at some- 
 what uncertain hours — for the easy-going par- 
 son did not always keep his time, and on
 
 THE GREY LADIES. if 
 
 occasion had been known to fail altogether — 
 Greylands was absolutely without pastoral 
 care. 
 
 Descending onwards — an abrupt descent — 
 past the church, the cliffs on the right soon 
 ended abruptly ; and the whole village, lying 
 in its hollow, seemed to burst upon you all at 
 once. It was very open, very wide just there. 
 The beach lay flat and bare to the sea, sundry 
 fishing-boats being generally high and dry 
 there : others would be out at sea, catching 
 fish. Huts and cottages were built on the 
 side of the rocks ; and some few on the 
 beach. On the left stood the Dolphin Inn, 
 lookino- straight across the wide road to the 
 beach and the sea ; past which inn the coach- 
 road branched off inland asfain. 
 
 The village street — if it could be called a 
 street — continued to wind on, up the village, 
 the Dolphin Inn making a corner, as it were, 
 between the street and the inland coach-road. 
 Let us follow this street. It is steep and 
 winding, and for a short distance solitar)-. 
 Half way up the ascent, on the left, and built 
 on the sea-cost, rises the pile of old buildings 
 called the Grey Nunnery. This pile stands 
 back from the road across a narrow strip of 
 waste land on which orass erows. The cliff
 
 28 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 is low there, understand, and the Grey Nun- 
 nery is built right at its edge, so that the 
 waves dash against its lower walls at high 
 water. The back of the building is to the 
 road, the front to the sea. A portion of it 
 is in ruins ; but this end is quite habitable, 
 and in it live some ladies, twelve, who are 
 called the Grey Sisters, or sometimes the 
 Grey Ladies, and who devote themselves 
 to charity and to doing good. In spite of 
 the appellation, they are of the Reformed 
 Faith ; strict, sound Protestants : a poor com- 
 munity as to funds, but rich in goodness. 
 They keep a few beds for the sick among the 
 villagers, or for accidents ; and they have a 
 day school for the village children. If they 
 could get better children to educate, they 
 would be glad ; and some of the ladies are 
 accomplished gentlewomen. Mr. Castlemaine, 
 who is, so to say, head and chief of the village 
 of Greylands, looking down on it from his 
 mansion, Greylands' Rest, does not counte- 
 nance these Sisters : he ^^zVcountenances them, 
 in fact, and has been heard to ridicule the 
 ladies. The Master of Greylands, the title 
 generally accorded him, is no unmeaning ap- 
 pellation, for in most things his will is law. 
 Beyond the part of the building thus in-
 
 THE GREY LADIES. 29 
 
 habited, there is a portion that Hes in complete 
 ruin ; it was the chapel in the days of the 
 monks, but its walls are but breast high now ; 
 and beyond it comes another portion still in 
 tolerable preservation, called the Friar's 
 Keep. The Friar's Keep was said to have 
 gained its appellation from the fact that the 
 confessor to the convent lived in it, together 
 with some holy men, his brethren. A vast 
 pile of buildings it must have been in its 
 prime ; and some of the traditions said that 
 this Friar's Keep was in fact a monastery, 
 divided from the nunnery by the chapel. A 
 wild, desolate, grand place it must have been, 
 looking^ down on the turbulent sea. Tales 
 and stories were still told of those days ; of 
 the jolly monks, of the secluded nuns, some 
 tales good, some bad — just as tales in the 
 generations to come will be told of the present 
 day. But, whatever scandal may have been 
 whispered, whatever dark deeds of the dark 
 and rude ages gone by, none could be raised 
 of the building now. The only inhabited part 
 of it, that occupied by the good Sisters, who 
 were blameless and self-denying in their lives, 
 who lived but to do good, was revered by all. 
 That portion of it was open, and fair, and 
 above board ; but some mysterious notions-
 
 30 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 existed in regard to the other portion — the 
 Friar's Keep. It was said to be haunted. 
 
 Now this report, attaching to a building of 
 any kind, would be much laughed at in these 
 later times. For one believer in the super- 
 stition (however well it might be authenti- 
 cated) ten, ay twenty, would ridicule it. The 
 simple villagers around believed it religiously : 
 it was said that the Castlemaines, who were 
 educated gentlemen, and anything but simple, 
 believed it too. The Friar's Keep was known 
 to be entirely uninhabited, and part of it 
 abandoned to the owls and bats. This was 
 indisputable ; nevertheless, now and again 
 glimpses of a light would be seen within the 
 rooms by some benighted passer-by, and 
 people were not wanting to assert that a 
 ghostly form, habited in a friar's light grey 
 cowl and skirts, would appear at the casement 
 Avindows, bearing a lamp. Strange noises 
 had also been heard — or were said to have 
 been. There was not one single inhabitant 
 of the village, man or woman, who would 
 have dared to cross the chapel ruins and enter 
 the Friar's Keep alone after nightfall, had it 
 been to save their lives. It did not lack a 
 foundation, this superstition. Tales were 
 whispered of a dreadful crime that had been
 
 THE GREY LADIES. 31 
 
 committed by one of the monks : it transpired 
 abroad ; and, to avoid the consequences of 
 being punished by his brethren — who of 
 course only could punish him after public 
 discovery, whatever they might have done 
 without it — he had destroyed himself in a cer- 
 tain room in the grey habit of his order, and 
 was destined to " come abroad" forever. So 
 the story ran, and so it was credited. The 
 good ladies at the Nunnery were grieved and 
 vexed when allusion was made to the super- 
 stition in their presence, and would have put 
 it down entirely if they could. They did not 
 see anything themselves, were never disturbed 
 by sounds : but, as the credulous villagers 
 would remark to one another in private, the 
 Sisters were the very last people who would 
 be likely to see and hear. They were not 
 near enough to the Friar's Keep for that, and 
 the casements in the Keep could not be seen 
 from their casements. 
 
 The narrow common, or strip of waste land, 
 standing between the street and the Grey 
 Nunnery is enclosed by somewhat high 
 palings. They run along the entire length of 
 the building, from end to end, and have two 
 gates of ingress. The one gate is opposite 
 the porch door of the Grey Nunnery ; the
 
 32 THE MASTER OF GRE YLANDS. 
 
 Other gate leads Into the chapel ruins. It 
 should be mentioned that there was no door 
 or communication of any kind between the 
 Nunnery and the site of the chapel, and it did 
 not appear that there ever had been : so that, 
 if any one required to pass from the Nunnery 
 to the ruins or to the Friar's Keep, they 
 must go round by the road and enter in at the 
 other gate. The chapel wall, breast high 
 still, extended down to the palings, cutting off 
 the Nunnery and its waste ground from the 
 ruins. 
 
 In their secluded home lived these blame- 
 less ladies, ever searching for good to do. In 
 a degree they served to replace the loss of a 
 resident pastor. Many a sick and dying bed 
 that ought to have been Mr. Marston's care, 
 had they soothed ; more than one frail infant, 
 passing away almost as soon as it had been 
 born, had Sister Mildred, the pious Supe- 
 rioress, after a few moments spent on her 
 bended knees in silent deprecatory prayer, 
 taken upon herself to baptize, that it might be 
 numbered as of the Fold of Christ. They 
 regretted that the clergyman was not more 
 among them, but there it ended : the clergy 
 of those days were not the active pastors of 
 these, neither were they expected to be. The
 
 THE GREY LADIES, 33 
 
 Grey Ladies paid Mr. Marston the utmost 
 respect, and encouraged others to do so ; and 
 they were strict attendants at his irregular 
 services on Sundays. 
 
 The origin of the Sisterhood was this. 
 Many years before, a Miss Mildred Grant, 
 being in poor health, had gone to Greylands 
 for change of air. As she made acquaintance 
 with the fishermen and the other poor families, 
 she was quite struck with their benighted 
 condition, both as to spiritual and temporal 
 need. She resolved to do what she could to 
 improve this ; she thought it might be a 
 solemn duty laid purposely in her path ; and 
 she took up her abode for good at one of the 
 cottages, and was joined by her sister, Mary 
 Grant. In course of time other ladies, wish- 
 ing to devote their lives to good works, joined 
 them ; at length a regular sisterhood of twelve 
 was formed, and they took possession of that 
 abandoned place, the old Grey Nunnery. 
 Six of these ladies were gentlewomen by 
 birth and breeding; and these six had brouo-ht 
 some portion of means with them. Six were 
 of inferior degree. These were received with- 
 out money, and in lieu thereof made them- 
 selves useful, taking it in turns to see to the 
 housekeeping, to do the domestic work, go 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 THE MASTER OE GREYLANDS. 
 
 on errands, make and mend the clothes, and' 
 the like. All were treated alike, wearing the 
 same dress, and taking their meals together 
 — save the two who mic^ht be on domestic 
 dut}'- for the week. At first the Sisterhood 
 had attracted much attention and caused some 
 public talk — for such societies were then 
 almost entirely unknown ; but Greylands was 
 a secluded place, and this soon died away. 
 Sister Mildred remained its head, and she 
 was getting in years now. She was a clever, 
 practical woman, without having received 
 much education, though a lady by birth. 
 Latterly she had been in very ill health ; and 
 she had always laboured under a defect, that 
 of partial deafness. Her sister Mary had 
 died early. 
 
 Immediately beyond the Friar's Keep, the 
 rocks rose abruptly again, and the sight 
 of the sea was there, and for some little way 
 onwards, inaccessible to the eye. Farther 
 on, the heights were tolerably flat, and there 
 the preventive men were enabled to pace — ■ 
 which they did assiduously : for those were 
 the days of real smuggling, when fortunes 
 were made by it and sometimes lives marred. 
 The coast-guard had a small station just 
 beyond the village, and the officers looked
 
 THE GREY LADIES. 35 
 
 pretty sharply after the beach and the doings 
 of the fishermen. 
 
 Just opposite the Friar's Keep, on the 
 other side the road, was a lane, called Chapel 
 Lane, flanking a good-sized clump of trees, 
 almost a grove ; and within these trees rose a 
 small, low, thatched-roof building, styled the 
 Hutt, The fjentleman inhabitino- this dwell- 
 ing, a slight, bronzed, upright, and active 
 man, with black eyes and black hair, was 
 named Teague. Formerly an officer on board 
 a man-of-war, he had saved enougrh for a 
 competency through prize money and else, 
 and had also a pension. The village called 
 him Commodore : he would have honestly 
 told you himself that he had no right to that 
 exalted rank — but he did not in the least 
 object to the appellation. He was a vast 
 favourite with the village, from the coast- 
 guardsmen to the poor fishermen, fond of 
 treating them in his Hutt, or of giving them 
 a sail in his boat, or a seat in his covered 
 spring cart — both of which articles he kept 
 for pleasure. In habits he was somewhat 
 peculiar ; living alone without a servant of 
 any kind, male or female, and waiting entirely 
 on himself.
 
 36 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 Chapel Lane — a narrow, pleasant lane, with 
 trees meeting overhead, and wild flowers 
 adorning its banks and hedges in summer — led 
 into the open country, and went directly past 
 Greylands' Rest, the residence of the Castle- 
 maines. This lane was not the chief approach 
 to the house : that was by the high coach- 
 road that branched off by the Dolphin Inn. 
 And this brings us to speak of the Castle- 
 maines. 
 
 Greylands' Rest, and the estate on which it 
 stood, had been purchased and entered upon 
 many years before by the then head and chief 
 of the family, Anthony Castlemaine. His 
 children grew up there. He had three sons — 
 Basil, James, and Peter. Basil was three or 
 four years the elder, for a little girl had died 
 between him and James ; and if he were 
 living at the present time, he would be 
 drawing towards sixty years of age. It was 
 not known whether he was living or not, 
 Anthony Castlemaine had been a harsh and 
 hasty man ; and Basil was wild and wilful. 
 After a good deal of unpleasantness at home, 
 and some bitter quarrelling between father and 
 son, in which the two younger sons took part 
 against their brother, Basil quitted his home 
 and went abroad. He was twenty-two then,
 
 THE GREY LADIES. 37 
 
 and had come into possession of a very fair 
 sum of money, which fell to him from his late 
 mother. The two other sons came into the 
 same on attaining their majority. Besides 
 this, Mr. Castlemaine handed over to Basil 
 his portion, so that he went away rich. He 
 went to seek his fortune and to o-et rid of his 
 
 o 
 
 unnatural relatives, he informed his friends 
 in Greylands and Stilborough, and he hoped 
 never to come back again until Greylands' 
 Rest was his. He never had come back 
 all those years, something like hve-and- 
 twenty now, and they had never heard from 
 him directly, though once or twice Incidentally. 
 The last time was about four years ago, when 
 chance news came that he was alive and 
 well. 
 
 James Castlemaine had remained with his 
 father at Greylands' Rest, managing the land 
 on the estate. Peter had taken his portion 
 and set up as a banker at Stilborough ; we 
 have seen with what success. James married, 
 and took his wife home to Greylands' Rest ; 
 but she died soon, leaving him a little son. 
 Several years subsequently he married again : 
 a widow lady ; and she was the present Mrs. 
 Castlemaine. 
 
 Old Anthony Castlemaine lived on, year
 
 38 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 after year, at Greylands' Rest, wondering 
 whether he should see his eldest son again. 
 With all Basil's faults, he had been his father's 
 favourite : and the old man grew to long for 
 him. It was more than either of Basil's 
 brothers did. Basil had had his portion from 
 both father and mother, and so they washed 
 their hands of him, as the two were wont to 
 observe, and they did not want him back 
 again. They, at least, had their wish, though 
 Mr, Castlemaine had not. The old man lived 
 to the age of eighty-five and then died with- 
 out seeing his eldest son ; without, in fact, 
 beincj sure that he was still alive. It was not 
 so very long now since old Anthony died : they 
 had just put off the mourning for him. James 
 had come into Greylands' Rest on his father's 
 death : or, at any rate, he had remained in 
 possession ; but of the real facts nothing 
 transpired. Rumours and surmises went 
 abroad freely : you cannot hinder people's 
 tongues : and very frequently when nothing 
 is known tongues flow all the faster. Some 
 thought it was left to James in trust for Basil ; 
 but nobody knew, and the Castlemaines were 
 close men, who never talked of their own 
 affairs. The estate of Greylands' Rest was 
 supposed to be worth about twelve hundred
 
 THE GREY LADIES. 39 
 
 a-year. It was the only portion of old Mr. 
 Castlemaine's property that there could be 
 any doubt or surmise about : what money he 
 had to dispose of, he had divided during his 
 lifetime between James and Peter ; Basil 
 having had his at starting. James Castle- 
 maine was the only gentleman of importance 
 living at Greylands ; he was looked up to as 
 a sort of feudallord by its inhabitants gene- 
 rally, and swayed them at will. 
 
 Following the coach-road that led off by 
 the Dolphin for about half a mile, you came 
 to a long green avenue on the right hand, 
 which was the chief approach to Greylands' 
 'Rest. It was an old house, built of grey 
 stone ; a straggling, in-and-out, spacious, com- 
 fortable mansion, only two storeys high. 
 Before the old-fashioned porch entrance, lay 
 a fine green lawn, with seats under its trees, 
 and beds of flowers. Stables, barns, kitchen 
 gardens, and more lawns and flower beds lay 
 around. The rooms inside were many, but 
 rather small ; and most of them had to be 
 approached by a narrow passage : as is some- 
 times the case in ancient houses that are 
 substantially built. From the upper rooms at 
 the side of the house could be seen, just 
 opposite, the Friar's Keep, its casements and
 
 40 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 its broken upper walls ; Commodore Teague's 
 Hutt lying exactly in a line between the two 
 buildings : and beyond all might be caught 
 glimpses of the glorious sea. 
 
 It was a cold, bright day in February, the 
 day following the dinner at the banker's. 
 Mr. Castlemaine was busy in his study — a 
 business-room, where he kept his farming 
 accounts, and wrote his letters — which was 
 on the upper floor of the house, looking 
 towards the sea and the Friar's Keep, and 
 was approached from the wide corridor by a 
 short narrow passage having a door at either 
 end. The inner door Mr. Castlemaine often 
 kept locked. In a pretty room below, warm 
 and comfortable, and called the Red Parlour 
 from its prevailing colour, its ceiling low, its 
 windows opening to the lawn, but closed to- 
 day, sat the ladies of his family : Mrs. Castle- 
 maine, her daughter Flora, and Ethel Reene, 
 
 It has been said that James Castlemaine's 
 second wife was a widow — she was a Mrs. 
 Reene. Her first marriaofe had also been 
 to a widower, Mr. Reene, who had one 
 daughter, Ethel. Mrs. Reene never took to 
 this step-child; she was jealous of Mr. Reene's 
 affection for her ; and when, on Mr. Reene's 
 death, which occurred shortly after the mar-
 
 THE GREY LADIES. 41 
 
 riage, it was found that he had left consider- 
 ably more money to his child than to his new 
 wife, Mrs. Reene's dislike was complete. A 
 year or two after her marriage with Mr. 
 Castlemaine, a little girl was born to her — ■ 
 Flora. On this child, her only one, she 
 lavished all her love — but she had none for 
 Ethel. Mr. Castlemaine, on his part, gave 
 the greater portion of his affection to his son, 
 the child of his first wife, Harry. A very 
 fine young man now, of some five-and-twenty 
 years, was Harry Castlemaine, and his father 
 was wrapt up in him. Ethel addressed 
 Mr. and Mrs. Castlemaine as "papa" and 
 " mamma," but she was in point of fact not 
 really related to either. She was five years 
 old when she came to Greylands' Rest, had 
 grown up there as a child of the house, and 
 often got called out of doors " Miss Castle- 
 maine." 
 
 Ethel seemed to stand alone without kith 
 or kin, with no one to love her ; and she felt 
 it keenly. As much as a young lady can be 
 put upon and snubbed in a gentleman's well- 
 appointed family, Ethel Reene was. Mr. 
 Castlemaine was always kind to her, though 
 perhaps somewhat indifferent ; Mrs. Castle- 
 maine was unkind and tyrannical ; Flora — an
 
 42 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 indulged, selfish, ill-bred girl of twelve, for- 
 ward enough in some things for one double 
 her age — did her best to annoy her in all 
 ways. And Mrs. Castlemaine permitted this : 
 she could see no fault in Flora, she hated 
 Ethel. Ethel Reene was nineteen now, grow- 
 ing fast into womanhood ; but she was young 
 for her years, and of a charming simplicity — 
 not so rare in girls then as it is now. She 
 was good, gentle, and beautiful ; with a pale, 
 quiet beauty that slowly takes hold of the 
 heart, but as surely stays there. Her large 
 eyes, full of depth, sweetness, and feeling, 
 gazed out at you with almost the straight- 
 forward innocence of a child : and no child's 
 heart could have been less free from guile. 
 Her hair was dark, her pretty features were 
 refined and delicate, her whole appearance 
 lady-like and most attractive. 
 
 Ethel Reene had much to put up with in 
 her every-day life : for Mrs. Castlemaine's 
 conduct was trying in the extreme ; Flora's 
 worse than trying. She seldom retaliated : 
 havinor learnt how useless retaliation from her 
 was against them : and besides she loved 
 peace. But she was not without spirit : and 
 only herself knew what it had cost her to learn 
 to keep that spirit under : sometimes when
 
 THE GREY LADIES. 43 
 
 matters went too far, she would check her 
 step-mother's angry torrent by a few firm 
 words, and quietly leave the room to take 
 refuge in the peace and solitude of her own 
 chamber. Or else she would put her bonnet 
 on and wander away to the cliffs ; where, 
 seated on the extreme edge, she would remain 
 for hours, looking out on the sea. She had 
 once been fond of taking her place in the 
 chapel ruins, and sitting there, for the expanse 
 of ocean seen from thence was most grand 
 and beautiful ; sometimes when the water was 
 low, so that the strip of beach beneath could 
 be gained, she would step down the low but 
 dangerous rock to it — which strip of beach 
 was only accessible from the chapel ruins and 
 at low tide. But one day Mr. Castlemaine 
 happened to see her do this ; he was very 
 angry, and absolutely forbade her, not only to 
 descend the rocks, but to enter, under any 
 pretence whatsoever, the site of the chapel 
 ruins. Ethel was not one to disobey. 
 
 But to sit on the higher rocks farther up, 
 by the coast-guard station, was not denied 
 her ; Mr. Castlemaine only enjoining her to 
 be cautious. It had grown to be her favourite 
 spot, and she often sat or walked there on 
 the cliff's edo-e. The ever-chancfincf water
 
 44 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 seemed to bring consolation to her spirit ; it 
 spoke to her in strange, soothing whispers ; it 
 fed the romance and the dreams that He in a 
 young girl's heart. When the sea was rough 
 and the waves dashed aofainst the cliffs, fline- 
 ing up their spray mountains high and sprink- 
 ling her face as with a mist, she would stand, 
 lost in the grandeur and awe of the scene, 
 her hat off and held by its ribbons, her hair 
 floating in the wind : the sky and the waves 
 seemed to speak to her soul of immortality ; 
 to bring nearer to her the far-off gates of 
 heaven. And so, for want of suitable com- 
 panionship, Ethel Reene shared her secrets 
 with the sea. 
 
 The glass doors of the red parlour were 
 closed to-day against the east wind ; the lawn 
 beyond, though bright with sunshine, lay cold 
 under its bare and wintry trees. Mrs. Castle- 
 maine sat by the fire working at a pair of 
 slippers ; a little woman, she, dressed in striped 
 green silk, with light hair, and a cross look on 
 what had once been a very pretty, though 
 sharp-featured face. Ethel sat near the win- 
 dow, drawing ; she wore a bright ruby winter 
 dress of fine merino, with some white lace at 
 its throat and sleeves ; a blue ribbon to which 
 was suspended some small gold ornament
 
 THE GREY LADIES. 45 
 
 encircled her delicate neck ; drops of gold 
 were in her ears ; and her pretty cheeks were 
 flushed to crimson, for Mrs. Castlemaine was 
 hot in dispute and making her feel very angry. 
 Flora, a restless damsel, in a flounced brown 
 frock and white pinafore, with a fair, pretty, 
 saucy face, and her flaxen curls tied back with 
 blue, was perched on the music stool before 
 Ethel's piano, striking barbarous chords with 
 one hand and abusing Ethel alternately. 
 
 The dispute to-day was this. INIiss Oldham, 
 Flora's governess, had lately given warning 
 precipitately, and left Greylands' Rest ; tired 
 out, as everybody but Mrs. Castlemaine knew, 
 with her pupil's insolence. Mrs. Castlemaine 
 had not yet found any one willing, or whom 
 she deemed eligible, to replace her — -for it 
 must be remembered that governesses then 
 were somewhat rare. Weary of waiting, Mrs. 
 Castlemaine had come to a sudden determi- 
 nation, and was now announcing it, that Ethel 
 should have the honour of filling the post. 
 
 " It is of no use, mamma," said Ethel. " I 
 could not teach ; I am sure I am not fit for 
 it. And, you know, Flora would never obey 
 me. 
 
 " That I'd not," put in Miss Flora, wheeling 
 herself half round on the stool. " 1 hate
 
 46 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 governesses ; and they do me no good. I 
 don't know half as much as I did when Miss 
 ' Oldham came, twelve months ago. Do I, 
 mamma ?" 
 
 " I fear you do not, my darling," replied 
 Mrs. Castlemaine. " Miss Oldham's system 
 of teaching was quite a failure, and she sadly 
 neglected her duty ; but — — ^" 
 
 " Oh, mamma," interrupted Flora, peevishly, 
 " don't put in that horrid ' but.' I tell you I 
 hate governesses ; I'm not going to have 
 another. Nothing but learning lessons, les- 
 sons, lessons, all day long, just as though you 
 wanted me to be a o-overness !" 
 
 " If you did not learn, Flora, you would 
 grow up a little heathen," Ethel ventured to 
 remark. " You would not like that." 
 
 " Now don't you put in your word," re- 
 torted the girl, passionately. " It's not your 
 place to interfere with me : is it, mamma ?" 
 
 " Certainly not, my sweet child." 
 
 Miss Flora had changed her place. Quit- 
 ting the music stool for the hearth rug, she 
 took up the poker ; and now stood brandish- 
 ing it around, and looking daggers at Ethel. 
 Ethel, her sweet face still flushed, went 
 steadily on with her drawing. 
 
 " She's as ill-natured as she can be ! She'd
 
 THE GREY LADIES. 47 
 
 like — mamma, she'd like — to see me toil i no; 
 at geography and French grammar all night 
 as well as all day. Nasty thing !" 
 
 " I can believe anything of Ethel that is 
 ill-natured," equably spoke Mrs. Castlemaine, 
 turning her slipper. " But I have made up 
 my mind that she shall teach you, Flo, my 
 love, under — of course, entirely, under — my 
 superintendence. Miss Oldham used to 
 resent interference." 
 
 " I do think, mamma, you must be joking!" 
 cried Ethel, turning her flushed face and her 
 beautiful eyes on her step-mother. 
 
 " When do I joke ?" retorted Mrs. Casde- 
 maine. "It will save the nuisance of a 
 governess in the house : and you shall teach 
 Flora!' 
 
 " I'll give her all the trouble I can ; she's 
 a toad," cried Miss Flora, bringing the poker 
 within an inch of her mother's nose. " And 
 I'll learn just what I like, and let alone what 
 I don't like. She's not going to be set up in 
 authority over me, as Miss Oldham was. 
 I'll kick you if you try it, Ethel." 
 
 " Stop, stop," spoke Ethel, hrmness in her 
 tone, decision on her pretty lips. " Mamma, 
 pray understand me ; I cannot attempt to do 
 this. My life is not very pleasant now ; it
 
 48 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 would be unbearable then. You know — you 
 see — what Flora is : how can you ask me ?" 
 
 Mrs. Castlemaine half rose, in her angry 
 spirit. It was something new for Ethel to 
 set her mandates at defiance. Her voice 
 turned to a scream ; her small light eyes 
 dilated. 
 
 " Do you beard me in my own house, 
 Ethel Reene ? I say that you shall do this. 
 I am mistress here — — " 
 
 Mistress she might be, but Mr. Castle- 
 maine was master ; and at that moment the 
 door opened, and he came in. Disputes 
 were not very unusual in his home, but this 
 seemed to be a frantic one. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this ?" he in- 
 quired, halting in astonishment, and taking in 
 the scene with his keen dark eyes. His wife 
 unseemly angry, her voice high ; Ethel in 
 tears — for they had come unbidden ; Flora 
 brandishing the poker towards Ethel, and 
 dancing to its movements, 
 
 Mrs. Castlemaine sat down to resume her 
 wool-work, her ruffled feathers subdued to 
 smoothness. She never cared to give way 
 to unseemly temper, no nor to injustice, in 
 the presence of her husband ; for she had 
 the pfrace to feel that he would be ashamed
 
 THE GREY LADIES. 49 
 
 of it — ashamed for her ; and that it would 
 still further weaken the little influence she 
 retained over him. 
 
 " Were you speaking of a governess for 
 Flora ?" he asked, advancing and taking the 
 poker from the young lady's hand. " What 
 has Ethel to do with that ?" 
 
 " I was observing that Ethel has a vast 
 deal of leisure time, and that she might, 
 rather than be idle, fill it up by teaching 
 Flora," replied Mrs. Castlemaine, as softly as 
 though her mouth were made of butter. 
 " Especially as Ethel's French is so perfect. 
 As a temporary thing, of course, if — if it did 
 not answer." 
 
 "I do not find Ethel idle : she always 
 seems to me to have some occupation on 
 hand," observed Mr. Castlemaine. " As to 
 her undertakinor the teaching of Flora — 
 would you like it, Ethel ?" 
 
 " No, papa," was the brave answer, as she 
 strove to hide her tears. *' I have, I am 
 sure, no talent for teaching ; I dislike it very 
 much : and Flora would never obey a word I 
 said. It would make my life miserable — I 
 was saying so when you came in." 
 
 " Then, my dear child, the task shall cer- 
 tainly not be put upon you. Why need you 
 
 VOL. I. A.
 
 so THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 have feared it would be ? We have no more 
 right to force Ethel to do what is distasteful 
 to her, than we should have to force it on 
 ourselves," he added, turning to his wife. 
 " You must see that, Sophia." 
 
 " But " began Mrs. Castlemaine. 
 
 " No buts, as to this," he interrupted. 
 " You are well able to pay and keep a gover- 
 ness — and, as Ethel justly observes, she 
 would not be able to do anything with Flora. 
 Miss Oldham could not do it. My opinion 
 is, no governess ever will do it, so long as 
 you spoil the child." 
 
 " I don't spoil her, James." 
 
 Mr. Castlemaine lifted his dark eyebrows : 
 the assertion was too palpably untrue to be 
 worthy a refutation. " The better plan to 
 adopt with Flora would be to send her to 
 school, as Harry says " 
 
 " That I w^ill never do." 
 
 " Then look out for a successor to Miss 
 Oldham. And, my strong advice to you, 
 Sophia, is — let the governess, when she 
 comes, hold entire[control over Flora and be al- 
 lowed to punish her when she deserves it. I 
 shall not care to see her grow up the self- 
 willed, unlovable child she seems to be now." 
 
 Mrs. Castlemaine folded up her slipper
 
 THE GREY LADIES. 51 
 
 quietly and left the room ; she was boiling 
 over with rage, in spite of her apparent calm- 
 ness. Flora, who stood in fear of her father, 
 flew off to the kitchen, to demand bread and 
 jam and worry the servants. Ethel was 
 going on with her drawing ; and Mr. Castle- 
 maine, who had a taste for sketching himself, 
 went and looked over her. 
 
 " Thank you, papa," she softly said, lifting 
 to him for a moment her loving eyes. " It 
 would have been bad both for Flora aod for 
 me." 
 
 " Of course it would," he replied : " Flora 
 ouorht to have a sfood tio;ht rein over her. 
 What's this you are doing, Ethel ? The 
 Friar's Keep ! Why what a curious coinci- 
 dence ! Mary Ursula was filling in just the 
 same things last nicjht." 
 
 " Was she, papa ! It makes a nice sketch." 
 
 " You don't draw as well as Mary Ursula 
 does, Ethel." 
 
 " I do nothing as well as she does, papa. 
 I don't think anybody does." 
 
 " What are those fiorures in the fore- 
 ground ?" 
 
 " I meant them for two of the Grey Sisters. 
 Their cloaks are not finished yet." 
 
 " Oh," said Mr. Castlemaine, rather shortly, 
 
 4—-
 
 52 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 *' And that's a group of fishermen, I see : 
 much the more sensible people of the two." 
 
 "What did Mary Ursula say last night, 
 papa : 
 
 " Say ? Nothing particular. She sent her 
 love to Ethel." 
 
 •' Did she dine at table ?" 
 
 " Why of course not, child. Miss Mount- 
 sorrel spent the evening with her." 
 
 " And papa," whispered Ethel with a pretty 
 little laugh and blush, "is it fixed yet ?" 
 
 " Is what fixed ?" 
 
 " The wedding-day." 
 
 " I don't think so — or you would have 
 heard of it. I expect she will ask you to be 
 her bridesmaid."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AT THE DOLPHIN INN. 
 
 HE Dolphin Inn, as already said, 
 stood in the angle between the 
 village street and the high road 
 that branched off from the street 
 to the open country. It faced the road, 
 standing, like most of the dwellings in Grey- 
 lands, somewhat back from it. A substantial, 
 low-roofed house, painted yellow, with a 
 flaming sign-board in front, bearing a dolphin 
 bright with various hues and colours, and two 
 low bow-windows on either side the door. 
 Beyond lay a yard with out-houses and 
 stables, and there was some good land behind. 
 Along the wall, underneath the parlour win- 
 dows and on either side the entrance door, 
 ran a bench on which wayfarers might sit ; at 
 right angles with it, near the yard, was a
 
 54 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 pump with a horse-trough beside it. Upon 
 a pinch, the inn could supply a pair of post- 
 horses : but they were seldom called for, as 
 Stilborough was so near. It was the only 
 inn of any kind at Greylands, and was fre- 
 quented by the fishermen, as well as occa- 
 sionally by more important guests. The 
 landlord was John Bent. The place was his 
 own and had been his father's before him. 
 He was considered to be a " warm " man ; to 
 be able to live at his ease, irrespective of 
 custom. John Bent was independent in 
 manner and speech, except to his wife. Mrs. 
 Bent, a thrifty, bustling, talkative woman, 
 had taken John's independence out of him at 
 first setting off, so far as she was concerned ; 
 but they got on very well together. To Mr. 
 Castlemaine especially John was given to 
 show independence. They were civil to each 
 other, but there was no love lost between 
 them. Mr. Castlemaine would have liked to 
 purchase the Dolphin and the land pertain- 
 ing to it : he had made more than one strong 
 overture to do so, which John had resisted 
 and resented. The landlord, too, had taken 
 up an idea that Mr. Castlemaine did not en- 
 courage the sojourn of strangers at the inn ; 
 had done his best in a quiet way to discourage
 
 AT THE DOLPHIN INN. 55 
 
 it, as was observed In regard to the Grey- 
 Ladies. Altogether, John Bent did not 
 favour the Master of Greylands. 
 
 On one of the days of this self-same month 
 of February, when the air was keen and 
 frosty and the sea sparkled under the after- 
 noon sunshine, John Bent and his wife sat in 
 the room they mostly occupied, which was 
 called the best kitchen. Called so in familiar 
 parlance only, however, for it was really used 
 as the sitting-room of the landlord and his 
 wife, and not for cooking. The room was on 
 the side of the house, its large, low, three- 
 framed window and its door facinsf the beach. 
 Outside this window was another of those 
 hospitable benches, for customers to sit down 
 on to drink their ale when it pleased them. 
 Mrs. Bent herself liked to sit there when work 
 was over, and criticise the doings of the vil- 
 lage. Whatever might be the weather, this 
 door, like the front one, stood open ; and 
 well-known guests, or neighbours stepping in 
 for a gossip, would enter by it. But no cus- 
 tomer attempted to call for pipe or drink in 
 the room, unless specially permitted. 
 
 Mrs. Bent stood at the table before the 
 window, picking shrimps for potting. She 
 was slim and active, with dark curls on either
 
 56 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 side her thin and comely face. Her cap had 
 cherry-coloured ribbons in it, her favourite 
 colour, and flying strings ; her cotton gown, 
 of a chintz pattern, was drawn through its 
 pocket hole, displaying a dark stuff petticoat, 
 and neat shoes and stockings. John Bent 
 sat at the blazing fire, as near to it as he could 
 get his wooden chair in, reading the " Stil- 
 borough Herald." 
 
 " It's uncommon cold to-day !" he broke 
 out presently, giving a twist to his back. 
 " The wind comes in and cuts one like a 
 knife. Don't you think, Dorothy, we might 
 shut that door a bit these sharp days ?" 
 
 " No I don't," said Mrs. Bent. 
 
 " You'll get rheumatism yet before the 
 winter's over, as sure as you're a living 
 woman. Or I shall." 
 
 " Shall I T retorted Mrs. Bent, * in her 
 sharply decisive tones. " Over forty years of 
 age I am now, and I've been here nigh 
 upon twenty, and never had a touch of it 
 yet. I am not going to begin to shut up doors 
 and windows, John Bent, to please you or 
 anybody else." 
 
 Thus put down, John resigned himself to 
 his paper again. He was a spare, middle- 
 sized man, some few years older than his
 
 AT THE DOLPHIN INN. S7 
 
 wife, with a red, healthy face and scanty grey 
 hair. Presently he laid the newspaper aside, 
 and sat watching his wife's nimble fingers. 
 
 " Dorothy, woman, when those shrimps are 
 done, you might send a pot of 'em over to 
 poor Sister Mildred. She's uncommon weak, 
 they say." 
 
 The very idea that had been running 
 through Mrs. Bent's own mind. But she did 
 not receive the suggestion courteously. 
 
 " Suppose you attend to your own concerns, 
 John. If I am to supply the parish with 
 shrimps gratis, it's about time I left off 
 potting," 
 
 John picked up his paper again with com- 
 posure : he was accustomed to all this : and 
 just then a shadow fell across the room. A 
 fisherman was standing at the open door with 
 some fish for sale. 
 
 " It's you, Tim, is it ?" cried Mrs. Bent in 
 her shrillest tones. " It's not often yoitr lazy 
 limbs bring me anything worth buying. What 
 is it to-day ?" 
 
 '* A splendid cod, Mrs. Bent," replied the 
 man. " Never was finer cauQ^ht." 
 
 " And a fine price, I dare be bound !" re- 
 turned the landlady, stepping aside to inspect 
 the fish. " What's the price ?"
 
 58 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 Tim named it : putting on a little to allow 
 of what he knew would ensue — the beating 
 down. Mrs. Bent spoke loudly in her wrath. 
 
 " Now look here, Tim Gleeson ! — do you 
 think I'm made of money ; or do you think 
 I'm soft ? I'll give you just half the sum. 
 If you don't like it you may take yourself off 
 and your fish behind you." 
 
 Mrs. Bent got the cod at her price. She 
 had returned to her shrimps, when, after a 
 gentle tap at the open door, there entered one 
 of the Grey Sisters. Sister Ann — whose 
 week it was to help in the domestic work and 
 to go on errands — was a busy, cheerful, sen- 
 sible woman, as fond of talking as Mrs. Bent 
 herself. She was dressed entirely in grey. A 
 grey stuff gown of a convenient length for 
 walking, that is, just touching the ankles ; a 
 grey cloth cloak reaching down nearly as far; 
 and a round grey straw bonnet with a white 
 net border close to the face. When the ladies 
 took possession of the Grey Nunnery, and 
 constituted themselves a Sisterhood, they had 
 assumed this attire. It was neat, suitable, 
 and becoming ; and not of a nature to attract 
 particular attention when only one or two of 
 them were seen abroad together. From the 
 dress, however, had arisen the appellationap-
 
 A T THE DOLPHIN INN. 59 
 
 plied to them — the Grey Ladies. In summer 
 weather the stuff used was of a horhter texture. 
 The stockings worn by Sister Ann were grey, 
 the shoes stout, and fastened with a steel 
 buckle. The only difference made by the 
 superior sisters was, that the material of their 
 gowns and cloaks was finer and softer, and 
 their stockings were white. 
 
 " Lack-a-day ! these shrimps will never get 
 done !" cried Mrs. Bent, under her breath. 
 " How d'ye do, Sister Ann ?" she said aloud, 
 her tones less sharp, out of respect to the 
 Order. " You look as blue as bad news. I 
 hope there's no fresh sickness or accident." 
 
 " It's the east wind," replied Sister Ann. 
 " Coming round that beach corner, it does 
 seize hold of one. I've such a pain here with 
 it," touching her chest, " that I can hardly 
 draw my breath." 
 
 " Cramps," said Mrs. Bent, shortly. " John," 
 she added, turning sharply on her husband, 
 " you'd better get Sister Ann a spoonful or 
 two of that cordial, instead of sitting to roast 
 your face at that lire till it's the colour of red 
 pepper." 
 
 " Not for worlds," interposed Sister Ann, 
 really meaning it. But John, at the hospi- 
 table suggestion had moved away.
 
 66 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 " I have come over to ask if you'll be good 
 enough to let me have a small pot of currant 
 jelly, Mrs. Bent," continued the Grey Sister. 
 " It is for Sister Mildred, poor thing " 
 
 ** Is she no better ?" interrupted Mrs. Bent. 
 
 " Not a bit. And her lips are so parched, 
 poor lady, and her deafness is so worrying — " 
 
 " Oh, as to her deafness, thafV^ never be 
 better," cried Mrs. Bent. " It will get worse 
 as she grows older." 
 
 " It can't be much worse than it is : it has 
 always been bad," returned Sister Ann, who 
 seemed slightly to resent the fact of the deaf- 
 ness. " We have had a sfood bit of sickness 
 in the village, and our black currant jelly is 
 all gone : not that we made much, being so 
 poor. If you will let me buy a pot from you, 
 Mrs. Bent, we shall be glad." 
 
 For answer, Mrs. Bent left her shrimps, 
 unlocked a corner cupboard, and put two 
 small pots of jelly into the Sister's hand. 
 
 " I am not sure that I can afford both to- 
 day," said Sister Ann, dubiously. " How 
 much are they ?" 
 
 " Nothing," returned Mrs. Bent. " Not 
 one farthing will I take from the ladies : I'm 
 always glad to do the little I can for any of 
 you. Give them to Sister Mildred with my
 
 AT THE DOLPHIN INN. 6r 
 
 respects ; and say, please, that when I've 
 done my shrimps I'll bring her over a pot of 
 them. I was intending to do it before you 
 came in." 
 
 The landlord returned with something in a 
 wine-glass, and stopped the Sister's thanks 
 by making her drink it. Putting the jelly in 
 her basket. Sister Ann, who had no time to 
 stay for a longer gossip that day, gratefully 
 departed. 
 
 " It's well the Master of Greylands didn't 
 hear you promise the shrimps and give her 
 them two pots of jelly, wife," cried John Bent, 
 with a queer kind of laugh. '' He'd not 
 have liked it." 
 
 " The Master of Greylands may lump it." 
 
 " It's my belief he'd like to drive the Grey 
 Sisters away from the place, instead of having 
 'em helped with pots of jelly." 
 
 " What I choose to do, I do do, thank 
 goodness, without need to ask leave of any- 
 body," returned independent Mrs. Bent. 
 
 " I can't think what it is puts Mr. Castle- 
 maine against 'em," debated John Bent, 
 thoughtfully. " Unless he fancies that if they 
 were less busy over religion, and that, we 
 might get the parson here more as a regular 
 thino:."
 
 62 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 " We should be none the better for him," 
 snapped Mrs. Bent. " For my part, I don't 
 see much good in parsons," she candidly- 
 added. " They only get into people's way." 
 
 The silence that ensued was broken by a 
 sound of horses in the distance, followed by 
 the blowing of a horn. John Bent and his 
 wife looked simultaneously at the eight-day 
 clock, ticking in its mahogany case by the fire, 
 and saw that it was on the stroke of four, 
 which was the time the London coach came 
 by. John passed through the house to the 
 front door ; his wife, after glancing at herself 
 in the hanging glass and giving a twitch to 
 her cap and her cherry ribbons, left her 
 shrimps and followed him. 
 
 It was not that they expected the coach to 
 bring visitors to them. Passengers from 
 London and elsewhere were generally bound 
 to Stilborough. But they as regularly went 
 to the door to be in readiness, in case any did 
 alight ; to see it pass, and to exchange saluta- 
 tions with the coachman and guard. It was 
 an event in the Dolphin's somewhat mono- 
 tonous day's existence. 
 
 " I do believe, wife, it's going to stop !" 
 cried John. 
 
 It was doing that already. The four
 
 AT THE DOLPHIN INN. 63 
 
 horses were drawing up ; the guard was 
 descending from his seat behind. He opened 
 the door to let out a gentleman, and took a 
 portmanteau from the boot. Before John 
 Bent, naturally slow of movement, had well 
 bestirred himself, the gentleman, who seemed 
 to be remarkably quick and active, had put 
 some money in the guard's hand and caught 
 up his portmanteau. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," said John, taking 
 it from him. " You are welcome, sir : will 
 you be pleased to enter ?" 
 
 The stranger was on the point of stepping 
 in-doors, when he halted and looked up at the 
 sign-board — at the dolphin depicted there in 
 all the hues of the rainbow, its tail lashing 
 up spouts of imaginary water. Smiling to 
 himself, almost as though the dolphin were 
 an old acquaintance, he went in. Mrs. Bent 
 curtseyed low to him in the good old re- 
 spectful fashion, and he returned it with a 
 bow. 
 
 A fire was blazing in one of the parlours, 
 and to this room the guest was conducted by 
 both landlord and landlady. Taking off his 
 upper coat, which was warmly slashed with 
 dark fur, they saw a slight, active man of 
 some eight-and-twenty years, under the mid-
 
 64 THE MASTER OF CREYLANDS. 
 
 die height, with a fresh, pleasant, handsome 
 face, and bright dark eyes. Something in 
 the face seemed to strike on a chord of the 
 landlord's memory. 
 
 " Who the dickens is he like ?" mentally 
 questioned John. '' Anyway, I like his looks." 
 
 " I can have a bed-chamber, I suppose ?" 
 spoke the stranger ; and they noticed that his 
 English, though quite fluent as to words, had 
 a foreign ring in it. " Will you show me to 
 one t 
 
 " At your service, sir ; please step this 
 way," said Mrs. Bent, in her most gracious 
 tones, for she was habitually courteous to her 
 guests, and was besides favourably impressed 
 by this one's looks and manners. " Hot 
 water directly, Molly," she called out in the 
 direction of the kitchen ; " and John, do you 
 bring up the gentleman's luggage." 
 
 " I can't think who it is his face puts me in 
 mind of," began John, when he and his wife 
 got back to their room again, and she set on 
 to make hasty work of the shrimps. 
 
 " Rubbish to his face," spoke Mrs. Bent. 
 " The face is nice enough, if you mean that. 
 It's late to get anything of a dinner up ; and 
 he has not said what he'll have, though I 
 asked him."
 
 A T THE DOLPHIN INN. 65 
 
 "And look here, wife — that portmanteau 
 is not an English one." 
 
 "It may be Dutch, for all it matters to us. 
 Now John Bent, just you stir up that fire a 
 bit, and put some coal on. I may have to 
 bring a saucepan in here, for what I know." 
 
 " Tush!" said John, doing as he was bid, 
 nevertheless. " A chop and a potato : that's 
 as much as most of these chance travellers 
 want." 
 
 ** Not when they are from over the water. 
 I don't forijet the last foreign Frenchman 
 that put up here. Fifteen dishes he wanted 
 for his dinner, if he wanted one. And all of 
 'em dabs and messes." 
 
 She had gone to carry away her shrimps 
 when the stranwr came down. He walked 
 direct into the room, and looked from the 
 open door. The landlord stood up. 
 
 " You are Thomas Bent, I think," said the 
 stranger, turning round. 
 
 '' John Bent, sir. My father was Thomas 
 Bent, and he has been dead many a year." 
 
 " And this is your good wife ?" he added, 
 as the landlady came bustling in. " Mistress 
 of the inn." 
 
 "And master too," muttered John, in an 
 undertone. 
 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 66 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 " I was about to order dinner, Mr. Bent " 
 
 " Then you'd better order it of me, sir," put 
 in the landlady. " His head's no better than 
 a sieve if it has much to carry. Ask for 
 spinach and cauliflower, and you'd get served 
 up carrots and turnips." 
 
 " Then I cannot do better than leave my 
 dinner to you, madam," said the young man, 
 Avith a pleasant laugh. *' I should like some 
 fish out of that glorious sea ; and the rest I 
 leave to you. Can I have an English plum- 
 pudding ?" 
 
 " An English plum-pudding ! Good gra- 
 cious, sir, it could not be made and boiled !" 
 
 " That will do for to-morrow, then." 
 
 Mrs. Bent departed, calling to Molly as 
 she went. The inn kept but two servants ; 
 Molly, and a man ; the latter chiefly attending 
 to out-of-door things : horses, pigs, and such 
 like. When further help was needed in-doors, 
 it could be had from the village. 
 
 " This must be a healthy spot," remarked 
 the stranger, taking a chair without cere- 
 mony at John Bent's fire. " It is very 
 open." 
 
 " Uncommon healthy, sir. A bit bleak in 
 winter, when the wind's in the east ; as it is 
 to-day."
 
 AT THE DOLPHIN INN. 67 
 
 " Have you many good families residing 
 about ?" 
 
 " Only one, sir. The Castlemaines." 
 
 " The Castlemaines ?" 
 
 " An old family who have lived here for 
 many a year. You'd pass their place, sir, not 
 long before getting out here : a house of grey- 
 stone on your left hand. It is called Grey- 
 lands' Rest." 
 
 " I have heard of Greylands' Rest — and 
 also of the Castlemaines. It belonged, I 
 think, to old Anthony Castlemaine." 
 
 " It did, sir. His son has it now." 
 
 " I fancied he had more than one son." 
 
 "He had three, sir. The eldest, Mr. Basil, 
 went abroad and never was heard of after : 
 leastways, nothing direct from him. The 
 second, Mr. James, has Greylands' Rest. He 
 always lived there with his father, and he lives 
 there still — master of all since the old o^entle- 
 man died." 
 
 " How did it come to him ?" asked the 
 stranger, hastily. " By will ?" 
 
 " Ah, sir, that's what no soul can tell. All 
 sorts of surmises went about ; but nobody 
 knows how it was." 
 
 A pause. " And the third son ? Where 
 is he ?" 
 
 5—2
 
 68 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 " The third's Mr. Peter. He is a banker 
 at Stilborough." 
 
 " Is he rich ?" 
 
 John Bent laughed at the question. " Rich, 
 sir ? Him ? Why, it's said he could almost 
 buy up the world. He has one daughter ; a 
 beautiful young lady, who's going to be mar- 
 ried to young Mr. Blake-Gordon, a son of Sir 
 Richard. Many thought that Mr. Castle- 
 maine — the present Master of Grey lands — 
 would have liked to get her for his own son. 
 But " 
 
 In burst Mrs. Bent, a big cooking apron 
 tied on over her gown. She looked slightly 
 surprised at seeing the stranger seated there ; 
 but said nothing. Unlocking the corner 
 cupboard, and throwing wide its doors, she 
 becfan searchinQ- for somethinsf on the shelves. 
 
 " Here you are, Mrs. Bent ! Busy as usual." 
 
 The sudden salutation came from a sfentle- 
 man who had entered the house hastily. A 
 tall, well-made, handsome young fellow, with 
 a ready tongue, and a frank expression in his 
 dark brown eyes. He stood just inside the 
 door, and did not observe the stranger. 
 
 " Is it you, Mr. Harry ?" she said, glancing 
 round. 
 
 " It's nobody else," he answered. " What
 
 AT THE DOLPHIN INN. 69 
 
 an array of jam pots ! Do you leave the key 
 in the door ? A few of those might be walked 
 off and never be missed." 
 
 " I should like to see anybody attempt it," 
 cried Mrs. Bent wrathfully. " You are always 
 joking, Mr. Harry." 
 
 He laughed cordially. " John," he said, 
 turning to the landlord, " did the coach bring 
 a parcel for me ?" 
 
 " No, sir. Were you expecting one, Mr. 
 Harry ?" 
 
 Mrs. Bent turned completely round from 
 her cupboard. " It's not a trick you are 
 thinking to play us, is it, sir ? / have not 
 forofotten that other parcel you had left here 
 once." 
 
 " Other parcel ? Oh, that was ever so 
 many years ago. I am expecting this from 
 London, John, if you will take it in. It will 
 come to-morrow, I suppose. Mrs. Bent 
 thinks I'm a boy still." 
 
 " Ah no, sir, that I don't," she said. 
 *• You've long grown beyond that, and out of 
 my control." 
 
 " Out of everybody else's too," he laughed. 
 " Where I used to get cuffs I now get kisses, 
 INIrs. Bent. And I am not sure but they are 
 the more dangerous application of the two."
 
 70 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 "/ am very sure they are," called out Mrs» 
 Bent, as the young man went off laughing, 
 after bowing slightly to the stranger, who was 
 now standing up, and whose appearance 
 bespoke him to be a gentleman. 
 
 " Who was that ?" asked the stranger of 
 John Bent. 
 
 " That was Mr. Harry Castlemaine, sir. 
 Son of the Master of Greylands." 
 
 With one leap, the stranger was outside 
 the door, gazing after him. But Harry Cas- 
 tlemaine, quick and active, was already nearly 
 beyond view. When the stranger came back 
 to his place again, Mrs. Bent had locked up 
 her cupboard, and was gone. 
 
 " A fine-looking young man," he re- 
 marked. 
 
 " And a good-hearted one as ever lived 
 — though he is a bit random," said John. 
 " I like Mr. Harry : I don't like his 
 father." 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " Well, sir, I hardly know why. One is 
 apt to take dislikes sometimes." 
 
 " You were speaking of Greylands' Rest — 
 of the rumours that went abroad respecting it 
 when old Mr. Castlemaine died. What were 
 they ?"
 
 AT THE DOLPHIN INN. 71 
 
 "Various rumours, sir; but all tending to one 
 and the same point. And that was, whether 
 Greylands' Rest had, or had not, legally come 
 to Mr. James Castlemaine." 
 
 " Being the second son," quietly spoke the 
 stranger. ' " There can be no question, I 
 should think, that the rightful heir was the 
 eldest son, Basil." 
 
 " And it was known, too, that Basil was 
 his father's favourite ; and that the old man 
 during his last years was always looking and 
 longing for him to come back," spoke John 
 Bent, warming with the subject : " and in 
 short, sir, everybody expected it would be 
 left to Basil. On the other hand, James was 
 close at hand, and the old man could leave it 
 to him if he pleased." 
 
 " One glance at the will would set all doubt 
 at rest." 
 
 " Ay. But it was not known, sir, whether 
 there was a will, or not." 
 
 " Not known ?" 
 
 " No, sir. Some said there was a will, and 
 that it left all to Mr. Basil ; others said there 
 was no will at all, but that old Anthony Cas- 
 tlemaine made Mr. James a deed of gift of 
 Greylands' Rest. And a great many said, 
 and still say, that old Mr. Castlemaine only
 
 72 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 handed him over the estate in trtcst for Mr. 
 Basil — or for any sons Mr. Basil might leave 
 after him." 
 
 The stranger sat in silence. On his little 
 finger shone a magnificent diamond ring, evi- 
 dently of great value ; he twirled it about un- 
 consciously. 
 
 " What is yottr opinion, Mr. Bent ?" he 
 suddenly asked. 
 
 " Mine, sir ? Well, I can't help thinking 
 that the whole was left to Mr. Basil, and that 
 if he's alive the place is no more Mr. James's 
 than it is mine. I think it particularly for 
 two reasons : one because the old man always 
 said it would be Basil's ; and again, if it was 
 given to Mr. James, whether by will or by 
 deed of gift, he would have taken care to 
 show abroad the will or the deed that orave it 
 him, and so set the rumours at rest for good. 
 Not but what all the Castlemaines are close 
 and haughty- natured men, never choosing to 
 volunteer information about themselves. So 
 that " 
 
 " Now then, John Bent ! It's about time 
 you began to lay the cloth and see to the 
 silver." 
 
 No need to say from whom the interruption 
 came. Mrs. Bent, her face flushed to the
 
 A T THE DOLPHIN INN. y^ 
 
 colour of the cherry ribbons, whisked in and 
 whisked out again. John followed ; and set 
 about his cloth-laying. The stranger sat 
 where he was, in a reverie, until called to 
 dinner. 
 
 It was a small, but most excellent repast, 
 the wine taken with it some of the Dolphin's 
 choice Burgundy, of which it had a small bin. 
 John Bent waited on his guest, who dined to 
 his complete satisfaction. He was about to 
 leave the bottle on the table after dinner, but 
 the guest motioned it away. 
 
 "No, no more ; I do not drink after dinner. 
 It is not our custom in France." 
 
 " Oh, very well, sir. I'll cork it up for to- 
 morrow. I — I beg your pardon, sir," resumed 
 the landlord, as he drew the cloth from the 
 table, " what name shall I put down to you, 
 sir i 
 
 The stranger rose and stood on the hearth- 
 rug, speaking distinctly when he gave his 
 name. 
 
 Speaking distinctly. Nevertheless John 
 Bent seemed not to hear it, for he stared like 
 one in a dream, 
 
 " What ?" he gasped, in a startled tone of 
 terror, as he staggered back against the
 
 74 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 sideboard ; and some of the fresh colour 
 left his face. " What name did you say, 
 sir ?" 
 
 " Anthony Castlemaine."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FORESIIADOWINGS OF EVIL. 
 
 HE stone walls of Greylands' Rest 
 lay cold and still under the pale 
 sunshine of the February day. The 
 air was sharp and frosty ; the sun, 
 though bright to the eye, had little warmth 
 in it ; and the same cutting east wind that 
 John Bent had complained of to the traveller 
 who had alighted at his house the previous 
 afternoon, was prevailing still with an equal 
 keenness. 
 
 Mr. Castlemaine felt it in his study, where 
 he had been busy all the morning. He fan- 
 cied he must have caught a chill, for a slight 
 shiver suddenly stirred his tall, fine frame, 
 and he turned to the fire and gave it a vigor- 
 ous poke. The fuel was wood and coal 
 mixed, and the blaze went roaring up the
 
 76 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 chimney. The room was not large : stand- 
 ing with his back to the fire, the window was 
 on his right hand ; the door on his left ; op- 
 posite to him, against the wall, stood a mas- 
 sive piece of mahogany furniture, called a 
 bureau. It was a kind of closed-in desk, 
 made somewhat in the fashion of the banker's 
 desk at Stilborough, but larger ; the inside 
 had pigeon-holes and deep drawers, and a 
 slab for writinof on. This inside was well 
 filled with neatly arranged bundles of papers, 
 with account books belonging to the farm 
 business and else, and with some few old 
 letters : and the Master of Greylands was as 
 cautious to keep this desk closed and locked 
 from the possibility of the view of those about 
 him as his brother Peter was to keep his. 
 The Castlemaines were proud, reticent, and 
 careful men. 
 
 For a good part of the morning, Mr. 
 Castlemaine had been busy at this desk. He 
 had shut and locked it now, and was stand- 
 ing with his back to the fire, deep in thought. 
 Two letters, of the large size in vogue before 
 envelopes were used, and sealed with the 
 Castlemaine crest in red wax, lay on the side- 
 table, ready to be posted. His left hand 
 was inside his waistcoat, resting on the broad
 
 FORESHADOVVINGS OF EVIL. 77 
 
 plaited shirt-frill of fine cambric ; his bright 
 dark eyes had rather a troubled look in them 
 as they sought that old building over the 
 fields opposite, the Friar's Keep, and the 
 sparkling sea beyond. In reality, Mr. Castle- 
 maine was looking neither at the Friar's 
 Keep nor the sea, for he was deep in thought 
 and saw nothing. 
 
 The Master of Greylands was of a super- 
 stitious nature : it may as well be stated can- 
 didly : difficult though it was to believe such 
 of so practical a man. Not to the extent of 
 giving credit to stories of ghosts and appari- 
 tions ; the probability is, that in his heart he 
 would have laughed at that ; but he did be- 
 lieve in signs and warnings, in omens of ill- 
 luck and good-luck. 
 
 On this self-same morning he had awoke 
 with an impression of discomfort, as if some 
 impending evil were hanging over him ; he 
 could not account for it, for there was no 
 conducing cause ; and at the time he did not 
 connect it with any superstitious feeling or 
 fancy, but thought he must be either out of 
 sorts, or had had some annoyance that he 
 did not at the moment of waking recollect ; 
 something lying latent in his mind. Three 
 or four little hindrances, or mishaps, occurred
 
 78 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 when he was dressing. First of all, he could 
 not find his slippers : he hunted here ; he 
 looked there ; and then remembered that he 
 had left them the previous night in his study 
 — a most unusual thino- for him to do — and 
 he had to go and fetch them, or else dress in 
 his stockings. Next, in putting on his shirt, 
 he tore the button-hole at the neck, and was 
 obliged to change it for another one. And 
 the last thing he did was to upset all his 
 shaving water, and had to wait while fresh 
 was brought. 
 
 " Nothing but impediments : it seems as 
 though I were not to get dressed to-day," 
 muttered the Master of Greylands. " Can 
 there be any ill-luck in store for me T 
 
 The intelligent reader will doubtless be 
 much surprised to hear him ask so ridiculous 
 a question. Nevertheless, the same kind of 
 thing — these marked hindrances — had oc- 
 curred twice before in Mr. Castlemaine's life, 
 and each time a great evil had followed in 
 the day. Not of the present time was he 
 thinking, now as he stood, but of one of those 
 past days, and of what it had brought forth. 
 
 " Poor Maria !" he softly cried — alluding to 
 his first wife, of whom he had been passion- 
 ately fond. " Well, and merry, and loving
 
 FORESHADOWINGS OF EVIL. 79 
 
 in the morning ; and at night stretched before 
 me in death. It was an awful accident ! and 
 I — I have never cared quite so much for the 
 world since. Maria was — what is it ? Come 
 in." 
 
 A knock at the door had disturbed the re- 
 flections. Mr. Castlcmaine let fall his coat 
 tails, which he had then caught up, and 
 turned his head to it. A man servant 
 appeared. 
 
 " Commodore Teague wants to know, sir, 
 whether he may get those two or three 
 barrow-loads of wood moved to the Hutt 
 to-day. He'd like to, he says, if it's con- 
 venient." 
 
 '* Yes, he can have it done. Is he here, 
 Miles ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; he's waiting in the yard ?" 
 " I'll come and speak to him." 
 And the Master of Greylands, taking the 
 two letters from the side-table, left the room 
 to descend, shutting the door behind him. 
 
 We must turn for a few minutes to the 
 Dolphin Inn, and to the previous evening. 
 Nothing could well have exceeded John 
 Bent's consternation when his guest, the un- 
 known stranger, had revealed his name. 
 Anthony Castlemaine ! Not quite at first,
 
 8o THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 but after a short Interval, the landlord sa\v^ 
 how it must be— that he was the son of the 
 late Basil Castlemaine. And he was not at 
 all best pleased to hear it in the moment's 
 annoyance. 
 
 " You ought to have told me, sir," he stam- 
 mered in his confusion. " It was unkind to 
 take me at a disadvantage. Here have I 
 been using liberties with the family's name, 
 supposing I was talking to an utter stranger!" 
 
 The frank expression of the young man's 
 face, the pleasant look in his fine brown eyes, 
 tended to reassure the landlord, even better 
 than words. 
 
 " You have not said a syllable of my family 
 that I could take exception to," he freely said. 
 " You knew my father : will you shake 
 hands with me, John Bent, as his son ?" 
 
 " You are too good, sir ; and I meant no 
 harm by my gossip," said the landlord, meet- 
 ing the offered hand. " You must be the son 
 of Mr. Basil. It's a great many years since 
 he went away, and I was but a youngster, but I 
 remember him. Your face is nearly the same 
 as his was, sir. The likeness was puzzling 
 me beyond everything. I hope Mr. Basil is 
 well, sir." 
 
 " No," said the young man, " he is dead.
 
 FORESHADOWINGS OF EVIL. '8r 
 
 And I have come over here, as his son and 
 heir, to claim Greylands' Rest." 
 
 It was even so. The facts were as young 
 Anthony Castlemaine stated. And a short 
 summary of past events must be given here. 
 
 When Basil Castlemaine went abroad so 
 many years agO, in his hot-blooded youth, he 
 spent some of the first years roaming about : 
 seeing the world, he called it. Later, circum- 
 stances brought him acquainted with a young 
 English lady, whose friends lived in France, 
 in the province of Dauphine : which, as the 
 world knows, is close on the borders of Italy. 
 They had settled near a place called Gap, and 
 were in commerce there, owning some exten- 
 sive silk-mills. Basil Castlemaine, tired pro- 
 bably of his wandering life and of being a beau 
 garcon, married this young lady, put all the 
 money he had left (it was a very tolerably good 
 sum) into the silk-mills, and became a partner. 
 There he had remained. He liked the cli- 
 mate ; he liked the French mode of life ; he 
 liked the business he had enofaeed in. Not 
 once had he re-visited England. He was by 
 nature a most obstinate man, retaining anwr 
 for ever, and he would not give token of 
 remembrance to the father and brothers who, 
 in his opinion, had been too glad to get rid of 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 him. No doubt they had. But, though he 
 did not allow them to hear of him, he heard 
 occasionally of them. An old acquaintance 
 of his, who was the son of one Squire Dobie, 
 living some few miles on the other side Stil- 
 borough, wrote to him every two years, or so, 
 and gave him news. But this correspondence 
 (if letters written only on one side could be 
 called such, for all Tom Dobie ever received back 
 was a newspaper, sent in token that his letter 
 had reached its destination) was carried on en 
 cachette ; and Tom Dobie never disclosed it 
 to living mortal, having undertaken not to do 
 so. Some two years before the present period, 
 Tom Dobie had died : his letters of course 
 ceased, and it was by the merest accident 
 that Basil Castlemaine heard of the death of 
 his father. He was then himself too ill to 
 return and put in his claim to Greylands' 
 Rest ; in fact he was near to death ; but he 
 charged his son to go to England and claim 
 the estate as soon as he should be no more ; 
 nay, as he said, to enter into possession of it 
 But he made use of a peculiar warning in 
 giving this charge to his son ; and these were 
 the words. 
 
 " Take you care what you are about, 
 Anthony, and go to work cautiously. There
 
 FORESHADOWINGS OF EVIL. 83 
 
 may be treachery in store for you. The 
 brothers — your uncles — ^who combined to 
 drive me away from our homestead in days 
 gone by, may combine again to keep you out 
 of it. Take care of yourself, I say ; feel 
 your way, as it were ; and beware of 
 treachery." 
 
 Whether, as is supposed sometimes to be 
 the case, the dying man had some prevision 
 of the future, and saw, as by instinct, what 
 that future would bring forth, certain it was, 
 that he made use of this warning to young 
 Anthony : and equally certain that the end 
 bore out the necessity for the caution. 
 
 So here was Anthony Castlemaine. Ar- 
 rived in the land of his family to put in his 
 claim to what he deemed was his lawful 
 inheritance, Greylands' Rest, the deep black 
 band worn for his father yet fresh upon his 
 hat. 
 
 Mrs. Castlemaine sat in the red parlour, 
 reading a letter. Or, rather, re-reading it, for 
 it was one that had arrived earlier in the 
 morning. A lady at Stilborough had applied 
 for the vacant place of Governess to INIiss 
 Flora Castlemaine, and had enclosed her 
 testimonials. 
 
 " Good music, singing, drawing ; no 
 
 6—2
 
 84 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 French," read Mrs. Castlemaine aloud, 
 partly for the benefit of Miss Flora, who 
 stood on a stool at her elbow, not at all 
 pleased that any such application should 
 come ; for, as we have already seen, the 
 young lady would prefer to bring herself up 
 without the aid of any governess. " Good 
 tempered, but an excellent disciplinarian, and 
 very firm with her pupils " 
 
 " I'm not going to have her, mamma," 
 came the interruption. " Don't you think it !" 
 
 " I do not suppose you will have her, Flora. 
 The want of French will be an insuperable 
 objection. How tiresome it is ! One seems 
 unable to get everything. The last lady who 
 applied was not a sufficient musician for ad- 
 vanced pupils, and therefore could not have 
 undertaken Ethel's music." 
 
 " As if Ethel needed to learn music still ! 
 Why she plays as well — as well," concluded 
 the girl, at any loss for a simile. " Catch me 
 learning music when I'm as old as Ethel !" 
 
 " I consider it nonsense myself, but Ethel 
 wishes it, and your papa so foolishly gives in to 
 her whims in all things that of course she has 
 to be studied in the matter as much as you. 
 It may be months and months before we get 
 a lady who combines all that's wanted here."
 
 FORESHADOWINGS OF EVIL, 85 
 
 Mrs. Castlemaine spoke resentfully. What 
 Avith one thing and another, she generally was 
 in a state of resentment against Ethel. 
 
 " I hope it may be years and years !" cried 
 Flora, leaning her arms on the table and kick- 
 ing her legs about. " I hope we shall never 
 get one at all." 
 
 "It would be easy enough to get one, but 
 for this trouble about Ethel's music," grum- 
 bled Mrs. Castlemaine. " I have a great 
 mind to send her to the Grey Nunnery for 
 her lessons. Sister Charlotte, I know, is per- 
 fect on the piano ; and she would be thankful 
 for the employment." 
 
 '' Papa would not let her go to the Nun- 
 nery," said the sharp girl. "He does not 
 like the Grey Ladies." 
 
 " I suppose he'd not. I'm sure, what with 
 this disqualification and 'that disqualification, 
 a good governess is as difficult to fix upon as 
 
 get off the table, my sweet child," hastily 
 
 broke off Mrs. Castlemaine : " here's your 
 papa." 
 
 The Master of Greylands entered the red 
 parlour, after his short interview in the yard 
 with Commodore Teague. Miss Flora slipped 
 past him, and disappeared. He saw a good 
 deal to find fault with in her rude, tombdy
 
 86 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 ways ; and she avoided him when she could. 
 Taking the paper, he stirred the fire into a 
 blaze, just as he had, not many minutes be- 
 fore, stirred his own fire upstairs. 
 
 " It is a biting-cold day," he observed. *' I 
 think I must have caught a little chill, for I 
 seem to feel cold in an unusual degree. 
 What's that ?" 
 
 Mrs. Castlemaine held the letters still in 
 her hand ; and by the expression of her 
 countenance, bent upon the contents, he could 
 perceive there was some annoyance. 
 
 " This governess does not do ; it is as bad 
 as the last. She lacked music ; this one lacks 
 French. Is it not provoking, James ?" 
 
 Mr. Castlemaine took up the letters and 
 read them. 
 
 " I should say she is just the sort of gover- 
 ness for Flora," he observed. " The testi- 
 monials are excellent." 
 
 " But her want of French ! Did you not 
 observe that ?" 
 
 " I don't know that French is of so much 
 consequence for Flora as the getting a suitable 
 person to control her. One who will hold 
 her under firm discipline. As it is, she is 
 being ruined." 
 - " French not of consequence for Flora !"
 
 FORESHADOWINGS OF EVIL. 87 
 
 repeated Mrs. Castlemaine. "What can you 
 niean, James ?" 
 
 " I said it was not of so much consequence, 
 relatively speaking. Neither is it." 
 
 " And while Ethel's French is perfect !" 
 
 ** What has that to do with it ?" 
 
 " I will never submit to see Flora inferior 
 in accomplishments to Ethel, James. French 
 I hold especially by : I have felt the want of 
 it myself Better, of the two, for her to fail 
 in music than in speaking French. If it were 
 not for Ethel's senseless whim of continuing 
 to take music lessons, there would be no 
 trouble." 
 
 " Who's this, I wonder ?" cried Mr. Castle- 
 maine. 
 
 He alluded to a visitor's ring at the hall 
 bell. Flora came dashing in. 
 
 " It's a gentleman in a fur coat," she said. 
 " I watched him come up the avenue." 
 
 " A gentleman in a fur coat !" repeated her 
 mother. "Some one who has walked from 
 Stilborough this cold day, I suppose." 
 
 Miles entered. On his small silver waiter 
 lay a card. He presented it to his master 
 and spoke. " The gentleman says he wishes 
 to see you, sir. I have shown him into the 
 drawing-room."
 
 88 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 The Master of Greylands was gazing at the 
 card with knitted brow, and haughty lips. 
 He did not understand the name on it. 
 
 " What farce is this ?" he exclaimed, toss- 
 ing the card on the table in anger. And 
 Mrs. Castlemaine bent to read it with aroused 
 curiosity. 
 
 " Anthony Castlemaine^ 
 
 " It must be an old card of your father's, 
 James," she remarked, " given most likely 
 years ago, to some one to send in, should he 
 ever require to present himself here — perhaps 
 to crave a favour." 
 
 This view, just at the moment it was 
 spoken, seemed feasible enough to Mr. Castle- 
 maine, and his brow lost its fierceness. An- 
 other minute, and he saw how untenable it 
 was. 
 
 " My father never had such a card as this, 
 Sophia. Plain ' Anthony Castlemaine,' with- 
 out hold or handle. His cards had ' Mr.' be- 
 fore the name. And look at the strokes and 
 flourishes — it's not like an English card. 
 What sort of a person is it. Miles ?" 
 
 " A youngish gentleman, sir. He has a 
 lot of dark fur on his coat. He asked for 
 Mr. James Castlemaine." 
 
 "Mr. James Castlemaine !" echoed the
 
 FORESHADOWINGS OF EVIL. 89 
 
 Master of Greylands, sharply, as he stalked 
 from the room, card in hand. 
 
 The visitor was standing before a portrait 
 in the drawing-room, contemplating it ear- 
 nestly. It was that of old Anthony Castle- 
 maine, taken when he was about fifty years 
 of age. At the opening of the door he turned 
 round and advanced, his hand extended and 
 a pleasant smile on his face. 
 
 " I have the gratification, I fancy, of seeing 
 my Uncle James !" 
 
 Mr. Castlemaine kept his hands to himself. 
 He looked haughtily at the intruder ; he spoke 
 frigidly. 
 
 '* I have not the honour of your acquaint- 
 ance, sir." 
 
 " But my card tells, you who I am," rejoined 
 the young man. " I am indeed your nephew, 
 uncle ; the son of your elder brother. He 
 was Basil, and you are James." 
 
 " Pardon me, sir, if I tell you what / think 
 you are. An impostor." 
 
 " Ah no, do not be afraid, uncle. I am 
 verily your nephew, Anthony Castlemaine. 
 I have papers and legal documents with me 
 to prove indisputably the fact ; I bring you 
 also a letter from my father, written on his 
 death-bed. But I should have thought )'ou
 
 90 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 might know me by my likeness to my father ; 
 and he — I could fancy that portrait had been 
 taken for him " — pointing to the one he had 
 been looking at. "He always said I greatly 
 resembled my grandfather." 
 
 There could be no dispute as to the like- 
 ness. The young man's face was the Castle- 
 maine face exactly : the well formed, hand- 
 some features, the clear and fresh complexion, 
 the brilliant dark eyes. All the Castlemaines 
 had been alike, and this one was like them 
 all ; even like James, who stood there. 
 
 Taking a letter from his pocket-book, he 
 handed it to Mr. Castlemaine. The latter 
 broke the seal— Basil's own seal ; he saw that 
 — and began to peruse it. While he did so, 
 he reflected a little, and made up his mind. 
 
 To acknowledge his nephew. For he had 
 the sense to see that no other resource would 
 be left him. He did it with a tolerably good 
 grace, but in a reserved cold kind of manner. 
 Folding up the letter, he asked a few ques- 
 tions ; which young Anthony freely answered, 
 and gave a brief account of the past. 
 
 " And Basil — your father — is dead, you 
 say ! Has been dead four weeks. This 
 letter, I see, is dated Christmas Day." 
 
 " It was on Christmas Day he wrote it,
 
 FORESHADOWINGS OF EVTL. 91 
 
 uncle. Yes, nearly four weeks have elapsed 
 since his death : it took place on the four- 
 teenth of January ; his wife, my dear mother, 
 had died on the same day six years before. 
 That was curious, was it not ? I had meant to 
 come over here immediately, as he charged 
 me to do ; but there were many matters of 
 business to be settled, and I could not get 
 away until now." 
 
 " Have you come over for any particular 
 purpose ?" coldly asked Mr. Castlemaine. 
 
 " I have come to stay, Uncle James. To 
 take possession of my inheritance." 
 " Of your inheritance ?" 
 " The estate of Greylands' Rest." 
 "■ Greylands' Rest is not yours," said Mr. 
 Castlemaine. 
 
 " My father informed me that it was. He 
 brought me up to no profession : he always 
 said that Greylands' Rest would be mine at 
 his own death ; that he should come into it 
 himself at the death of his father, and thence 
 it would descend to me. To make all sure, 
 he left it to me in his will. And, as I have 
 mentioned to you, we did not hear my grand- 
 father was dead until close upon last Christ- 
 mas. Had my father known it in the sum- 
 mer, he would have come over to put in his
 
 92 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 claim : he was in sufficiently good health 
 then." 
 
 " It is a pity you should have come so far 
 on a fruitless errand, young man. Listen. 
 When your father, Basil, abandoned his home 
 here in his youth, he forfeited all claim to the 
 inheritance. He asked for his portion, and 
 had it ; he took it away with him and stayed 
 away ; stayed away for nigh upon forty years. 
 What claim does he suppose that sort of con- 
 duct gave him on my father's affection, that 
 he should leave to him Greylands' Rest ?" 
 
 " He always said his father would leave it 
 to no one but him : that he knew it and was 
 sure of it." 
 
 " What my father might have done had 
 Basil come back during his lifetime, I cannot 
 pretend to say : neither is it of any conse- 
 quence to guess at it now. Basil did not 
 come back, and, therefore, you cannot be 
 surprised that he missed Greylands' Rest ; 
 that the old father left it to his second son — 
 myself — instead of to him." 
 
 " But did he leave it to you, uncle ?" 
 
 " A superfluous question, young man. I 
 succeeded to it, and am here in possession of 
 it." 
 
 " I am told that there are doubts upon the
 
 FORESHADOWINGS OF EVIL. 93 
 
 point abroad," returned Anthony, speaking in 
 the same pleasant tone, but with straightfor- 
 ward candour. 
 
 " Doubts upon what point ?" haughtily de- 
 manded Mr. Castlemaine. 
 
 " What I hear is this, Uncle James. That 
 it is not known to the public, and never has 
 been known, how you came into Greylands' 
 Rest. Whether the estate was left to you by 
 will, or handed over to you by deed of gift, 
 or given to you in trust to hold for my father. 
 Nobody knows, I am told, anything about it, 
 or even whether there was or was not a will 
 Perhaps you will give me these particulars, 
 uncle ?" 
 
 Mr. Castlem.aine's face grew dark as night. 
 " Do you presume to doubt my word, young 
 man ? I tell you that Greylands' Rest is 
 mine. Let it content you." 
 
 " If you will show me that Greylands Rest 
 is yours, Uncle James, I wnll never say another 
 word upon the subject, or give you the small- 
 est trouble. Prove this to me, and I will stay 
 a few days in the neighbourhood, for the sake 
 of cementing family ties — though I may never 
 meet any of you again — and then go back to 
 the place whence I came. But if you do not 
 give me this proof, I must prosecute my claim, 
 and maintain my rights."
 
 -94 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 " Rights !" scoffed Mr. Castlemaine, begin- 
 ning to lose his temper. " How dare you 
 presume to talk to me in this way ? A needy 
 adventurer — for that is what I conclude you 
 are, left without means of your own — to come 
 here, and " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," interrupted the young 
 man ; " I am not needy. Though far from 
 rich, I have a fair competency. Enough to 
 keep me in comfort." 
 
 " It is all one to me," said Mr. Castlemaine. 
 *' You had better do as you say — go back to 
 the place whence you came." 
 
 "If the estate be truly and lawfully yours, 
 I should be the last to attempt to disturb you 
 in it ; I should not wish to do so. But if it 
 be not yours, Uncle James, it must be mine ; 
 and, until I can be assured one way or the 
 other, I shall remain here, though it be for 
 €ver." 
 
 Mr. Castlemaine drew himself up to his 
 full height. He was perfectly calm again ; 
 perhaps somewhat vexed that he had allowed 
 himself to betray temper ; and rejoined, coolly 
 and prudently, 
 
 " I cannot pretend to control your move- 
 ments ; to say you shall go, or you shall come ; 
 but I tell you, frankly, that your staying will
 
 FORESHADOWINCS OF EVIL. 95 
 
 not serve you in the least. Were you to re- 
 main for ever — as you phrase it — not one 
 tittle of proof would you get from me. Things 
 have come to a pretty pass if I am to be 
 bearded in my own house, and have my word 
 doubted." 
 
 " Well, Uncle James," said the young man, 
 still speaking pleasantly, " then nothing re- 
 mains for me but to try and find out the truth 
 for myself. I wish you had been more ex- 
 plicit with me, for I am sure I do not know 
 how to set about it," he added, candidly. 
 
 A faint, proud smile curled Mr. Castle- 
 maine's decisive lips. It seemed to say, " Do 
 "what you please ; it is beneath my notice." 
 His nephew took up his hat to depart. 
 
 " May I offer to shake hands with you, 
 Uncle James ? I hope we need not' be ene- 
 mies : 
 
 A moment's hesitation, and Mr. Castle- 
 maine shook the offered hand. It was next 
 to impossible to resist the frank geniality ; 
 just the same frank geniality that had charac- 
 terised Basil ; and Mr. Castlemaine thawed a 
 little. 
 
 " It appears to be a very strange thing that 
 Basil should have remained stationar)- all
 
 96 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 those years in France ; never once to have 
 come home !" 
 
 " I have heard him say many a time, Uncle 
 James, that he should never return until he 
 returned to take possession of Greylands' 
 Rest. And during the time of the great war,, 
 travelling was dangerous and difficult." 
 
 " Neither could I have believed that he 
 would have settled down so quietly. And to 
 engage in commerce !" 
 
 "He grew to like the bustle of business. 
 He had a vast capacity for business, Uncle 
 James." 
 
 " No doubt ; being a Castlemaine," was the 
 answer, delivered with conscious superiority. 
 " The Castlemaines lack capacity for nothing 
 they may choose to undertake. Good morn- 
 ing ; and I wish you a better errand next 
 time. 
 
 As Anthony Castlemaine, on departing, 
 neared the gate leading to the avenue, he saw 
 a young lady approaching it. A fisherman, 
 to whom she was speaking, walked by her 
 side. The latter's words, as he turned away; 
 caught the ear of Anthony. 
 
 " You will tell the master then, please, Miss 
 Castlemaine, and say a good word to him for 
 me?"
 
 FORESHADOIVINCS OF EVIL. 97 
 
 " Yes, I will, Gleeson ; and I am very sorry 
 for the misfortune," the young lady answered. 
 ^' Good day." 
 
 Anthony gazed with unfeigned pleasure on 
 the beautiful face presented to him in — as he 
 supposed — his cousin. It was Ethel Reene. 
 The cheeks had acquired a soft rose flush in 
 the crisp air, the dark brown hair took a 
 wonderfully bright tinge in the sunshine ; and 
 in the deep eyes glancing so straight and 
 honestly through their long dark lashes into 
 those of the stranger, there was a sweet 
 candour that caused Anthony Castlemaine to 
 think them the prettiest eyes he had ever 
 seen. He advanced to her direct ; said a few 
 words indicative of his delight at meeting her ; 
 and, while Ethel was lost in astonishment, he 
 suddenly bent his face forward, and kissed her 
 on either cheek. 
 
 For a moment, Ethel Reene was speech- 
 less ; bewildered with confused indignation at 
 the outrage ; and then she burst into a flood 
 of tears. What she said, she hardly knew ; 
 but all bespoke her shivering, sensitive sense 
 of the insult. Anthony Castlemaine was 
 overwhelmed. He had intended no insult, 
 but only to give a cousinly greeting after the 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 fashion of his adopted land ; and he hastened 
 to express his contrition. 
 
 " I beg your pardon a milHon times. I am 
 so grieved to have pained or offended you. 
 I think you cannot have understood that I am 
 your cousin ?" 
 
 " Cousin, sir," she rejoined — and Mr. Castle- 
 maine himself could not have spoken with a 
 more haughty contempt. " How dare you 
 presume ? I have not a cousin or a relative 
 in the wide world." 
 
 The sweet eyes were flashing, the delicate 
 face was flushed to crimson. It occurred to 
 Anthony Castlemaine that he must have 
 made some unfortunate mistake. 
 
 " I know not how to beg your pardon , suf- 
 ficiently," he continued. " I thought indeed 
 ' you were my cousin, Miss Castlemaine." 
 
 " I am not Miss Castlemaine." 
 
 *' I — pardon me ! — I assuredly heard the 
 sailor address you as Miss Castlemaine." 
 
 Ethel was beginning to recover herself. 
 She saw that he did not look at all like a 
 young man who would gratuitously offer any 
 lady an insult, but like a true gentleman. 
 Moreover, there flashed upon her perception 
 the strong likeness his face bore to the 
 Castlemaines ; and she thought that what he
 
 FORESHADOWINGS OF EVIL. 99 
 
 had done he must have done In some 
 error. 
 
 " I am not Miss Castlemaine," she conde- 
 scended to explain, her tone losing part of its 
 anger, but not its pride. " Mr. Castlemaine's 
 house is my home, and people often call me 
 by the name. But — and If I were Miss 
 Castlemaine, who are you, sir, that you 
 should claim to be my cousin ? The Castle- 
 malnes have no strange cousins." 
 
 " I am Anthony Castlemaine, young lady ; 
 son of the late Basil Castlemaine, the heir of 
 Greylands. I come from an Interview with 
 my Uncle James; and I — I beg your pardon 
 most heartily once more." 
 
 " Anthony Castlemaine, the son of Basil 
 Castlemaine !" she exclaimed, nearly every 
 emotion forgotten in astonishment ; but a 
 conviction, nevertheless, seizing upon her that 
 it was true. " The son of the lost Basil !" 
 
 " I am, in very truth, his son," replied 
 Anthony. "My father is dead, and I have 
 come over to claim — and, I hope, enter Into 
 — my patrimony, Greylands' Rest." 
 
 7—2
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 IGHTS ofleamed from the rooms of 
 the banker's house in Stilborough. 
 A flood of Hght blazed from the 
 hall, and was reflected on the pave- 
 ment outside, and on the colours of the 
 flowering plants just within the entrance. 
 Mr. Peter Castlemaine and Miss Castlemaine 
 gave a dance that night ; and it was the cus- 
 tom to open the door early, and keep it open, 
 for the arrival of the expected guests. 
 
 The reception-rooms were in readiness, and 
 gay with their wax lights and flowers. They 
 opened mostly into one another. The largest 
 of them was appropriated to dancing. All 
 its furniture and its carpet had been removed ; 
 benches occupied the walls, under the innu- 
 merable sconces bearing lights ; and the floor
 
 THE BALL. loi 
 
 was chalked artistically, in a handsome pat- 
 tern of flowers, after the fashion of the 
 day. 
 
 In the small apartment that was her own 
 sitting-room, stood Mary Ursula. In her 
 rich robes of white silk and lace, and in the 
 jewels which had been her mother's, and 
 which it was her father's wish she should 
 wear on grand occasions, she looked, with 
 her stately form and her most lovely face, of 
 almost regal beauty. Excitement had flushed 
 her cheeks to brightness ; on her delicate and 
 most perfect features sat an animation not 
 often seen there. Whatever evil might be 
 overhanging the house, at least no prevision 
 of it rested on Miss Castlemaine ; and per- 
 haps few young ladies in all the kingdom 
 could be found who were possessed of the 
 requisites for happiness in a degree that could 
 vie with the banker's daughter, or who had 
 so entire a sense of it. Beautiful, amiable, 
 clever, rich ; the darling of her father ; shel- 
 tered from every care in her sumptuous 
 home ; loving and beloved by a young man 
 worthy of her, and to whom she was soon to 
 be united ! In the days to come, Mary Ur- 
 sula would look back on this time, and tell 
 herself that the very intensity of its happi-
 
 I02 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 ness might have warned her that it was too 
 bright to last. 
 
 He, her lover, was by her side now. He 
 had come early, on purpose to be for a few 
 minutes alone with her, before the arrival of 
 the other guests. They stood together on 
 the hearth-rug. A quiet-looking young man 
 of middle height, with dark hair, just the 
 shade of hers, and rather a pensive and mild 
 cast efface : a face, however, that did not seem 
 to proclaim much moral strength. Such was 
 William Blake- Gordon. 
 
 They were conversing of the future ; the 
 future that to both of them looked so bright ; 
 of the home and home life that ere long 
 would be theirs in common. Mr. Blake- 
 Gordon had been for some little time search- 
 ing for a house, and had not met with a suit- 
 able one. But he thouo^ht he had found it 
 now. 
 
 "It seems to me to be just the thing, 
 Mary," he was saying— for he never called 
 her by her double name, but " Mary" simply. 
 " Only four miles from Stilborough on the 
 Loughton road ; which will be within an easy 
 distance of your father's home and of Sir 
 Richard's. It was by the merest chance I 
 heard this morning that the Wests were go-
 
 THE BALL. 103 
 
 inof ; and we can secure it at once if we will, 
 before it goes into the market." 
 
 Miss Castlemaine knew the house by sight; 
 she had passed it many a time in her drives, 
 and seen it nestling away amid the trees. It 
 was called by rather a fanciful name — 
 Raven's Priory. 
 
 " It is not to be let, you say, William ; only 
 bought." 
 
 "Only bought. There will be, I pre- 
 sume, no difficulty made to that with the 
 authorities." 
 
 He spoke with a smile. She smiled too. 
 Difficulty! — with the loads of wealth that 
 would be theirs some time! They might 
 well laugh at the idea. 
 
 " Only that — that it is uncertain how long 
 we may require to live in it," she said, with a 
 slight hesitation. " I suppose that — some 
 time " 
 
 " We shall have to leave it for my father s 
 home. True. But that, I trust, may be a 
 long while off. And then we could re-sell 
 Raven's Priory." 
 
 "Yes of course. It is a nice place, 
 William ?" 
 
 " Charming," he replied with enthusiasm. 
 For of course all things, the proposed resi-
 
 I04 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 dence included, wore to him the hue of 
 couleur-de-rose. 
 
 " I have never been inside it," she ob- 
 served. 
 
 " No. The Wests are chudish people, 
 keeping no company. Report says that Mrs^ 
 West is a hypochondriac. They let me go 
 in this morning, and I went over all the 
 house. It is the nicest place, love — and not 
 too large or too small for us ; and the Wests 
 have kept it in good condition. You will be 
 charmed with the drawing-rooms, Mary ; and 
 the conservatory is one of the best I ever 
 saw. They want us to take to the plants." 
 
 " Are they nice ?" 
 
 " Beautiful. The Wests are moving ta 
 London, to be near good advice for her, and 
 they do not expect to get anything of a con- 
 servatory there ; at least, that is worth the 
 name. I wonder what your papa will think 
 about this house, Mary ? We might tell him 
 of it now. Where is he ?" 
 
 " He is out," she answered. " Just as he 
 was going up to dress, Thomas Hill sent for 
 him down stairs, and they went out some- 
 where together. Papa ran up to tell me he 
 would be back as soon as he could, but that I 
 must for once receive the people alone."
 
 THE BALL. 105 
 
 " I wish I might stand by your side to 
 help receive them !" he said impulsively. 
 " Would any of them faint at it ? Do you 
 think Mrs. Webb would, if she were here ?" 
 he continued with a smile. " Ah, well — a 
 short while, my darling, and I shall have the 
 right to stand by you." 
 
 He stole his arm round her waist, and 
 whispered to her a repetition of those love 
 vows that had so often before charmed her ear 
 and thrilled her heart. Her cheek touched his 
 shoulder ; the faint perfume of her costly fan, 
 that she swayed unconsciously as it hung 
 from her wrist, was to him like an odour from 
 Paradise. He recounted to her all the features 
 he remembered of the house that neither of 
 them doubted would be their future home ; 
 and the minutes passed in, to both, bliss un- 
 utterable. 
 
 The crashing up of a carriage — of two car- 
 riages it seemed — warned them that this 
 sweet pastime was at an end. Sounds of 
 bustle in the hall succeeded to it : the ser- 
 vants were receiving the first guests. 
 
 '' Oh, William— I forgot — I meant to tell 
 you," she hurriedly whispered. " I had the 
 most ugly dream last night. And you know
 
 lo6 THE MASTER OF GRE YLANDS. 
 
 I very rarely do dream. I have not been 
 able to get it out of my mind all day." 
 
 " What was it, Mary ?" 
 
 " I thought we were separated, you and I ; 
 separated for ever. We had quarrelled, I 
 think ; that point was not clear ; but you 
 turned off one way, and I another. It was 
 in the gallery of this house, William, and we 
 had been talking together. You went out at 
 the other end, by the door near the dining- 
 room, and I at this end ; and we turned at 
 the last and looked at one another. Oh, the 
 look was dreadful ! I shall never forget it : so 
 full of pain and sadness ! And we knew, 
 both of us knew, that it was the last farewell 
 look ; that we should never again meet in 
 this world." 
 
 " Oh, my love ! my love !" he murmured, 
 bending his face on hers. " And you could 
 let it trouble you ! — knowing it was but a 
 dream ! Nothing but the decree of God — 
 death — shall ever separate us, Mary. For 
 weal or for woe, we will go through the life 
 here together." 
 
 He kissed away the tears that had gathered 
 in her eyes at the remembrance ; and Miss 
 Castlemaine turned hastily into one of the 
 larger rooms, and took up her standing there
 
 THE BALL. 107 
 
 in expectation. For the feet of the gay world 
 were already traversing the gallery. 
 
 She welcomed her guests, soon coming in 
 thick and threefold, with the gracious manner 
 and the calm repose of bearing that always 
 characterised her, apologising to all for the 
 absence of her father ; telling them that he had 
 been called out unexpectedly on some matter 
 of business, but would soon return. Amid 
 others, came the party from Greylands' Rest, 
 arriving rather late : Mrs. Castlemaine in 
 black velvet, leaning on the arm of her step 
 son ; Ethel Reene walking modestly behind, 
 in a simple dress of white net, adorned with 
 white ribbons. There was many a fine 
 young man present, but never a finer or 
 more attractive one than Harry Castlemaine ; 
 with the handsome Castlemaine features, the 
 easy, independent bearing, and the ready 
 tongue. 
 
 " Is it of any use to ask whether )ou are 
 at liberty to honour me with your hand for 
 the first dance, Mary Ursula ?" he inquired, 
 after leaving Mrs. Castlemaine on a sofa. 
 
 " Not the least, Harry," answered Miss 
 Castlemaine, smiling. " I am engaged for 
 that, and for the second as well." 
 
 " Of course. Well, it is all as it should be,
 
 io8 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 I suppose. Given the presence of Mr, Blake- 
 Gordon, and no one else has so good a right 
 as he to open the ball with you." 
 
 " You will find a substitute for me by the 
 asking, Harry. See all those young ladies 
 around ; not one but is glancing towards you 
 with the hope that you may seek her." 
 
 He laughed rather consciously. He was 
 -perfectly well aware of the universal favour ac- 
 corded by the ladies, young and old, to Harry 
 Castlemaine. But this time, at any rate, he 
 intended to disappoint them all. He turned 
 to Miss Reene. 
 
 " Will you take compassion upon a rejected 
 man, Ethel ? Mary Ursula won't have me 
 for the first two dances, you hear ; so I appeal 
 to you in all humility to heal the smart. 
 Don't reject me." 
 
 " Nonsense, Harry !" was the young lady's 
 answer. " You must not ask 7ne for the first 
 dance ; it would be like brother and sister 
 dancing together ; all the room would resent 
 it in you, and call it bad manners. Choose 
 elsewhere. There's Miss Mountsorrel ; she 
 will not say you nay." 
 
 " For the dances, no ; but she'll not conde- 
 scend to speak three words to me while they 
 are in process," returned Mr, Harry Castle-
 
 THE BALL. 109 
 
 maine. " If you do not dance them with me, 
 Ethel, 1 shall sit down until the two first 
 dances are over." 
 
 He spoke still in the same laughing, half 
 joking manner ; but, nevertheless, there was 
 a rinof of decision in the tone of the last 
 words ; and Ethel knew he meant what he 
 said. The Casdemaines rarely broke through 
 any decision they might announce, however 
 lightly it was spoken ; and Harry possessed 
 somewhat of the same persistent will. 
 
 "If you make so great a point of it, I will 
 dance with you," observed Ethel. " But I 
 must again say that you ought to take any 
 one rather than me." 
 
 " I have not seen my uncle yet," remarked 
 Miss Castlemaine to Ethel, as Harry strolled 
 away to pay his devoirs to the room 
 generally. " Where can he be lingering ?" 
 
 " Papa is not here, Mary Ursula." 
 
 " Not here ! How is that T 
 
 " Really I don't know," replied Ethel. 
 " When Harry came running out to get into 
 the carriage to-night — we had been sitting in 
 it quite five minutes waiting for him ; but he 
 had been away all day, and was late in dress- 
 ing — Miles shut the door. ' Don't do that,' 
 said Harry to him, ' the master's not here.'
 
 no THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 Upon that, Mrs. Castlemaine spoke, and said 
 papa was not coming with us." 
 
 " I suppose he will be coming in later,'* 
 remarked Mary Ursula, as she moved away 
 to meet fresh guests. 
 
 The dancing began with a country dance ; 
 or, as would have been said then, the ball 
 opened with one. Miss Castlemaine and her 
 lover, Mr. Blake-Gordon, took their places at 
 its head ; Harry Castlemaine and Miss Reene 
 were next to them. For in those days, people 
 stood much upon etiquette at these assemblies, 
 and the young ladies of the family took pre- 
 cedence of all others in the opening dance. 
 
 The dance chosen was called the Tri- 
 umph. Harry Castlemaine led Mary Ursula 
 down between the line of admiring spec- 
 tators ; her partner, Mr. Blake-Gordon, fol- 
 lowed, and they brought the young lady back 
 in triumph. Such was the commencement 
 of the figure. It was a sight to be remem- 
 bered in after years ; the singular good looks 
 of at least two of the three ; Harry, the 
 sole male heir of the Castlemaines, with 
 the tall fine form and the handsome face; 
 and Mary Ursula, so stately and beauti- 
 ful. Ethel Reene was standing alone, in her 
 quiet loveliness, looking like a snowdrop, and
 
 THE BALL. in 
 
 waitinfi: until her turn should come to be in 
 like manner taken down. The faces of all 
 sparkled with animation and happiness, the 
 gala robes of the two young ladies added to 
 the charm of the scene. Many recalled it 
 later ; recalled it with a pang : for, of those 
 four, ere a year had gone by, one was not, 
 and another's life had been blighted. No 
 prevision, however, rested on any of them 
 this nicjht of what the dark future held in 
 store ; and they revelled in the moment's 
 enjoyment, gay at heart. Heaven is too 
 merciful to let Fate cast its ominous shade 
 on us before the needful time. 
 
 The banker came in ere the first dance 
 was over. Moving about from room to room, 
 among his guests, glancing with approved 
 smile at the young dancers, seeing that the 
 card-tables were filled, he at length reached 
 the sofa of Mrs. Castlemaine. She happened 
 to be alone on it just then, and he sat down 
 beside her. 
 
 "I don't see James anywhere," he remarked.. 
 " Where's he hiding himself ?" 
 
 " He has not come," replied Mrs. Castle- 
 maine. 
 
 " No ! How's that ? James enjoys a ball."
 
 112 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 " Yes, I think he does still, nearly as much 
 as his son Harry." 
 
 " Then what has kept him away ?" 
 
 " I really do not know. I had thought 
 nearly to the last that he meant to come. 
 When I was all but ready myself, finding 
 James had not begun to dress, I sent Harriet 
 to remind him of the lateness of the hour, and 
 she brought word back that her master was 
 not going." 
 
 " Did he say why ?" asked Mr. Peter 
 Castlemaine. 
 
 " No ! I knocked at his study door after- 
 wards, and found him seated at his bureau. 
 He seemed busy. All he said to me was, that 
 he should remain at home ; neither more nor 
 less. You know, Peter, James rarely troubles 
 himself to give a reason for what he does." 
 
 " Well, I am sorry. Sorry that he should 
 miss a pleasant evening, and also because I 
 wanted to speak to him. We may not have 
 many more of these social meetings." 
 
 " I suppose not," said Mrs. Castlemaine, 
 assuming that her brother-in-law alluded in 
 an indirect way to his daughter's approaching 
 marriage. "When once you have lost Mary 
 Ursula, there will be nobody to hold festivi- 
 ties for."
 
 THE BALL. I13 
 
 " No," said the banker absently. 
 
 " I suppose it will be very soon now." 
 
 " What will be soon ?" 
 
 " The wedding. James thinks it will be 
 after Easter." 
 
 " Oh — ay — the wedding," spoke Mr. Peter 
 Castlemaine, with the air of a man who has 
 just caught up some recollection that had 
 slipped from him. " I don't know yet : we 
 shall see : no time has been decided on." 
 
 " Close as his brother," thought Mrs. 
 Castlemaine. " No likelihood that he will 
 disclose anything unless he chooses." 
 
 " Will James be coming in to Stilborough 
 to-morrow ?" asked the banker. 
 
 " I'm sure I cannot tell. He goes out and 
 comes in, you know, without any reference to 
 me. I should fancy he would not be coming 
 in, unless he has anything to call him. He 
 has not seemed well to-day ; he thinks he has 
 cauofht a cold." 
 
 " Ah then, I dare say that's the secret of 
 his staying at home to-night," said Mr. Peter 
 Castlemaine. 
 
 " Yes, it may be. I did not think of that. 
 And he has also been very much annoyed to- 
 day : and, you know, Peter, if once James is 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 thoroughly put out of temper, it takes some 
 little time to put him in again." 
 
 The banker nodded assent. 
 
 " What has annoyed him ?" 
 
 " A very curious thing," replied Mrs. Cas- 
 tlemaine : " you will hardly believe it when I 
 tell you. Some young man " 
 
 Breaking off suddenly, she glanced around 
 to make sure that no one was within hearine- 
 Then drawing nearer to the banker, went on 
 in a lowered voice. 
 
 " Some young man presented himself this 
 morning at Greylands' Rest, pretending to 
 want to put in a claim to the estate." 
 
 Abstracted though the banker had been 
 throughout the brief interview, these words 
 aroused him to the quick. In one moment 
 he was the calm, shrewd, attentive business 
 man, Peter Castlemaine, his head erect, his 
 keen eyes observant. 
 
 " I do not understand you, Mrs. Castle- 
 mame. 
 
 " Neither do I understand," she rejoined. 
 " James said just a word or two to me, and I 
 gathered the rest." 
 
 " Who was the young man ?" 
 
 " Flora described him as wearinsr a coat 
 trimmed with fur ; and Miles thought he spoke
 
 THE BALL. 115 
 
 with somewhat of a foreign accent," repHed 
 Mrs. Castlemaine, deviating unconsciously 
 from the question, as ladies sometimes do 
 deviate. 
 
 " But don't you know who he was ? Did 
 he £rive no account of himself ?" 
 
 " He calls himself Anthony Castlemaine." 
 
 As the name left her lips, a curious kind of 
 change, as though he were startled, passed 
 momentarily over the banker's countenance. 
 But he neither stirred nor spoke. 
 
 "When the card was brouo^ht in with that 
 name upon it — James happened to be in the 
 red parlour, talking with me about a new 
 ooverness — I said it must be an old card of 
 your father's that somebody had got hold of. 
 But it turned out not to be that : and indeed 
 it was not like the old cards. What he wants 
 to make out is, that he is the son of Basil 
 Castlemaine." 
 
 " Did James see him ?" 
 
 " Oh dear yes, and their interview lasted 
 more than an hour." 
 
 " And he told James he was Basil's son ? — 
 this young man." 
 
 " I think so. At any rate the young man 
 told Ethel he was. She happened to meet 
 him as he was leavin;/ the house and he in- 
 
 8—2
 
 Ii6 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 troduced himself to her as Anthony Castle- 
 maine, Basil's son, and said he had come 
 over to claim his inheritance — Greylands' 
 Rest." 
 
 " And Where's Basil ?" asked the banker, 
 after a pause. 
 
 " Dead." 
 
 " Dead ?" 
 
 " So the young man wishes to make ap- 
 pear. My opinion is he must be some im- 
 postor." 
 
 " An impostor no doubt," assented the 
 banker slowly. " At least — he may be. I 
 only wonder that we have not — under the 
 circumstances — had people here before, claim- 
 ing- to be connected with Basil." 
 
 " And I am sure the matter has annoyed 
 James very much," pursued Mrs. Castlemaine. 
 "He betrayed it in his manner, and was not 
 at all like himself all the afternoon. I should 
 make short work of it if the man came again, 
 were I James, and threaten him with the law." 
 
 Mr. Peter Castlemaine said no more, and 
 presently rose to join other of his guests. But 
 as he talked to one, laughed with another, 
 listened to a third ; his head bent in atten- 
 tion, his eyes looking straight into their eyes, 
 none had an idea that these signs of interest
 
 THE BALL. 1 17 
 
 were evinced mechanically, and that his mind 
 was far away. 
 
 He had enough complexity and trouble of 
 his own just then, as Heaven knew ; very 
 much indeed on this particular evening ; but 
 this other complexity, that appeared to be 
 arising for his brother James, added to it. 
 To Airs. Castlemaine's scornfully expressed 
 opinion that the man was an impostor, he 
 had assented just in the same way that he 
 was now talkino- with his o-uests — mechani- 
 cally. For, some instinct, or prevision, call it 
 what you will, lay on the banker's heart, that 
 the man would turn out to be no impostor, 
 but the veritable son of the exile, Basil. 
 
 Peter Castlemaine was much attached to 
 his brother James, and for James's own sake 
 he would have regretted that any annoyance 
 or trouble should arise for him ; but he had 
 also a selfish motive for regretting it. In his 
 dire strait as to money, for to that it had now 
 come — he had been rapidly making up his 
 mind that evening to appeal to James to let 
 him have some. The appeal might not be 
 successful under the most favourable auspices : 
 he knew that : but with this trouble looming 
 for the master of Greylands, he foresaw that 
 it must and would fail. Greylands' Rest
 
 ii8 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 might be James's in all legal security ; but an 
 impression had Iain on the mind of Peter 
 Castlemaine, since his father's death, that if 
 Basil ever returned he would set up a fight 
 for it. 
 
 Supper over — the elaborate, heavy, sit- 
 down supper of those days — and the two 
 dances following upon it, most of the guests 
 departed. Mr. Blake-Gordon, seeking about 
 for the banker to wish him good-night, at 
 length found him standing over the fire in 
 the deserted card-room. Absorbed though 
 he was in his own happiness, the young man 
 could but notice the flood-tide of care on 
 the banker's brow. It cleared off, as though 
 by magic, " when the banker looked up and 
 saw him. 
 
 " Is it you, William ? I thought you had 
 left." 
 
 " I should hardly go, sir, without wishing 
 you good-night. What a delightful evening 
 it has been !" 
 
 " Ay, I think you have all enjoyed your- 
 selves." 
 
 " Oh very, very much." 
 
 " Well, youth is the time for enjoyment," 
 observed the banker. " We can never again 
 find the zest in It, once youth is past."
 
 THE BALL. 119 
 
 " You look tired, sir ; otherwise I — I might 
 have ventured to trespass on you for five 
 minutes' conversation, late though it be," 
 pursued Mr. Blake-Gordon, with some hesi- 
 tation. 
 
 " Tired ! — not at all. You may take five 
 minutes ; and five to that, William." 
 
 " It is about our future residence, sir. 
 Raven's Priory is in the market : and I think 
 — and Mary thinks — it will just suit us." 
 
 " Ay ; I heard more than a week ago that 
 the Wests were leaving." 
 
 The words took William Blake-Gordon by 
 surprise. He looked at the banker. 
 
 " Did you, sir ! — more than a week ago ! 
 And, did it not strike you that it would be a 
 very suitable place for us T 
 
 " I cannot say that I thought much about 
 it," was the banker's answer ; and he was 
 twirling an ornament on the mantel-piece 
 about with his hand as he spoke : a small, 
 costly vase of old china from Dresden. 
 
 " But doji!t you think it would be, sir ?" 
 
 " I dare say it might be. The gardens and 
 conservatories have been well kept-up ; and 
 )ou and Mary Ursula have both a weakness 
 for rare flowers." 
 
 That was perfectly true. And the " weak-
 
 120 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 ness" showed itself then, for the young man 
 went off .into a rapturous description of the 
 wealth of Raven's Priory in respect of flori- 
 culture. The ten minutes slipped away to 
 twenty ; and in his own enthusiasm Mr. Blake- 
 Gordon did not notice the absence of it in his 
 hearer. 
 
 " But I must not keep you longer, sir," he 
 suddenly said, as his eyes caught the hands 
 of the clock. " Perhaps you will let me see 
 you about it to-morrow. Or allow my father 
 to see you^ — that will be better." 
 
 " Not to-morrow," said Mr. Peter Castle- 
 maine. " I shall be particularly engaged all 
 day. Some other time." 
 
 " Whenever you please, sir. Only — we 
 must take care that we are not forestalled in 
 the purchase. Much delay might " 
 
 " We can obtain a promise of the first re- 
 fusal," interrupted the banker in a somewhat 
 impatient tone. " That will not be diffi- 
 cult." 
 
 " True. Good-night, sir. And, thank you 
 for giving us this most charming evening." 
 
 "Good-night, William." 
 
 But Mr. Blake-Gordon had not yet said his 
 last farewell to his betrothed wife ; and lovers 
 never think tJiat can be spoken often enough.
 
 THE BALL. I2I 
 
 He found her in the music-room, seated 
 before the origan. She was waitinjT for her 
 father. 
 
 "We shall have Raven's Priory, Marj-," 
 he whispered, speaking in accordance with 
 his thoughts, in his great hopefulness ; and 
 his voice was joyous, and his pale face had a 
 glow on it not often seen there. " Your papa, 
 himself, says how beautiful the gardens and 
 conservatories are." 
 
 " Yes," she softly answered. " We shall 
 be sure to have it." 
 
 " I may not stay, Mary : I only came back 
 to tell you this. And to wish you good-night 
 once again." 
 
 Her hand was within his arm, and they 
 walked together to the end of the music-room. 
 All the lights had been put out, save two. 
 Just within the door, he halted and took his 
 farewell. His arm was around her, his lips 
 were upon hers. 
 
 " May all good angels guard you this happy 
 night — my love ! — my promised wife !" 
 
 He went down the corridor swiftly ; she 
 stole her blushing face to the opening of the 
 door, to take a last look at him. At that 
 moment a crash, as of some frail thing broken, 
 was heard in the card-room. Mr. Blake-
 
 122 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 Gordon turned into it ; Mary Ursula followed 
 
 him. 
 
 The beautiful Dresden vase lay on the 
 
 stone flags of the hearth, shivered into many 
 
 atoms. It was one that Mary Ursula set 
 
 great store by, for it had been a purchase of 
 
 her mother's. 
 
 " Oh papa ! How did it happen ?" 
 
 " My dear, I swept it off unwittingly with 
 
 my elbow : I am very sorry for it," said Mr. 
 
 Peter Castlemaine.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ANTHONY CASTLEMAINE OX HIS SEARCH. 
 
 ^'HE hour of dinner with all business 
 p^ men in Stilborough was half-past 
 one o'clock in the day. Perhaps 
 Mr. Peter Castlemaine was the only 
 man who did not really dine then ; but he 
 took his luncheon ; which came to the same 
 thing. It was the recognised daily inter- 
 regnum in the public doings of the town — 
 this half hour between half-past one and two : 
 consequently shops, banks, offices, all were 
 virtually though not actually closed. The 
 bank of Mr. Peter Castlemaine made no ex- 
 ception. On all days, except Thursday, 
 market day, the bank was left to the care of 
 one clerk durintr this half hour : the rest of 
 the clerks and iNIr. Hill would be out at their
 
 124 THE MASTER OF CREYLANDS. 
 
 dinner. As a rule, not a single customer 
 came in until two o'clock had struck. 
 
 It was the day after the ball. The bank 
 had been busy all the morning, and Mr. Peter 
 Castlemaine had been away the best part of 
 it. He came back at half-past one, just as 
 the clerks were filing out. 
 
 " Do you want me, sir ?" asked Thomas 
 Hill, standing back with his hat in his hand ; 
 and it was the dreadfully worn, perplexed 
 look on his master's face that induced him to 
 ask the question. 
 
 " Just for a few minutes," was the reply. 
 " Come into my room." 
 
 Once there, the door was closed upon them, 
 and they sat in grievous tribulation. There 
 was no dinner for poor Thomas Hill that day ; 
 there was no lunch for his master : the hour's 
 perplexities were all in all. 
 
 On the previous evening, some stranger 
 had arrived at Stilborough, had put up at the 
 chief inn there, the Turk's Head ; and then, 
 after inquiring the private address of ]\lr. 
 Peter Castlemaine's head clerk, had betaken 
 himself to the clerk's lodgings. Thomas Hill 
 was seated at tea when the gentleman was 
 shown in. It proved to be a Mr. Fosbrook 
 from London : and the moment the clerk heard
 
 ANTHONY CASTLEMAINE ON HIS SEARCH. 1 25 
 
 the name, Fosbrook, and realized the fact that 
 the owner of it was in actual person before 
 him, he turned as cold as a stone. For, of 
 all the men who could brine: most danofer on 
 Mr. Peter Castlemaine, and whom the banker 
 had most cause to dread, it was this very one, 
 Fosbrook. That he had come down to seek 
 explanations in person which might no longer 
 be put off, the clerk felt sure of : and the fact 
 of his seeking out him instead of his master, 
 proved that he suspected something was more 
 than wrong. He had had a little passing, 
 private acquaintance with Mr. Fosbrook in 
 the years gone by, and perhaps that induced 
 the step. 
 
 Thomas Hill did what he could. He dared 
 not afford explanation or information himself, 
 for he knew not what it would be safe to say, 
 what not. He induced Mr. Fosbrook to re- 
 turn to his inn, undertaking to bring his master 
 to wait on him there. To the banker's house 
 he would not take the stranger ; for the gaiety, 
 of which it was that night the scene, was not 
 altogether a pleasant thing to show to a cre- 
 ditor. Leaving Mr. Fosbrook at the Turk's 
 Head on his way, he came on to apprise Mr. 
 Peter Castlemaine. 
 
 Mr. Peter Castlemaine went at once to the
 
 126 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 inn. He had no resource but to go : he did 
 not dare do otherwise : and this it was that 
 caused his absence during the arrival of the 
 ofuests. The interview was not a long one ; 
 for the banker, pleading the fact of having 
 friends at home, postponed it until the morn- 
 
 ing. 
 
 It was with this gentleman that his morn- 
 ing had been spent ; that he had now, half- 
 after one o'clock, just come home from. 
 Come home with the weary look in his face, 
 and the more than weary pain at his heart. 
 
 " And what is the result, sir ?" asked 
 Thomas Hill as they sat down together. 
 
 " The result is, that Fosbrook will wait a 
 few days, Hill ; three or four, he says. Per- 
 haps that may be made five or six : I don't 
 know. After that — if he is not satisfied by 
 tangible proofs that things are right and not 
 wronof, so far as he is concerned — there will 
 be no further waiting." 
 
 " And the storm must burst ?" 
 
 " The storm must burst," echoed Peter 
 Castlemaine. 
 
 " Oh but, sir, my dear master, what can be 
 done in those few poor days ?" cried Thomas 
 Hill in agitation. " Nothing. You must 
 have more time allowed you."
 
 ANTHONY CA STLE MAINE ON HIS SEARCH. 1 2 7 
 
 " I had much ado to get that much, Hill. 
 I liad to LIE for it," he added in a lower tone. 
 
 " Do you see a chance yourself, sir ?" 
 • " Only one. There is a chance ; but it is 
 a very remote one. That last venture of 
 mine has turned up trumps : I had the news 
 by the mail this morning : and if I can realize 
 the funds in time, the present danger may be 
 averted." 
 
 " And the future trouble also," spoke 
 Thomas Hill, catching eagerly at the straw 
 of hope. " Why, sir, that will bring you in a 
 mine of wealth." 
 
 " Yes. The only real want now is time. 
 Time ! time ! I have said it before perhaps 
 too sanguinely ; I can say it in all truth 
 now." 
 
 " And, sir — did you not show this to be 
 the case to Mr. Fosbrook ?" 
 
 " I did. But alas, I had to deny to him 
 my other pressing liabilities — and he ques- 
 tioned sharply. Nevertheless, I shall tide it 
 over, all of it, if I can only secure the time. 
 That account of ]\Ierrit's — we may as well go 
 over it together now, Thomas. It will not 
 take long." 
 
 They drew their chairs to the table side by 
 side. A thought was runnino- throutrh Tho-
 
 128 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 mas Hill's mind, and he spoke it as he opened 
 the ledgers. 
 
 "■ With this good news in store, sir, making 
 repayment certain— for if time be given you,, 
 you will now have plenty— don't you think 
 Mr. Castlemaine would advance you funds ?" 
 
 " I don't know," said the banker. " James 
 seems to be orrowino- cautious. He has no 
 notion of my real position — I shrink from 
 telling him — and I am sure he thinks that I 
 am quite rich enough without borrowing 
 money from anybody for fresh speculations. 
 And, in truth, I don't see how he can have 
 much money at command. This new trouble, 
 that may be looming upon him, will make 
 him extra cautious." 
 
 " What trouble ?" asked Thomas Hill. 
 
 " Some man, I hear, has made his appear- 
 ance at Greylands, calling himself Anthony 
 Castlemaine, and saying that he is a son of my 
 brother Basil," replied the banker confi- 
 dentially. 
 
 " Never !" cried the old man. " But, sir, if 
 he be, how should that bring trouble on Mr. 
 Castlemaine ?" 
 
 " Because the stranger says he wants to 
 claim Greylands' Rest." 
 
 " He must be out of his mind," said Thomas
 
 ANTHONY CASTLEMAINE ON HIS SEARCH. 1 29 
 
 Hill. " Greylands' Rest is Mr. Castlemaine's; 
 safe enough too, I presume." 
 
 "But a man such as this may give trouble, 
 don't you see." 
 
 " No, sir, I don't see it — with all deference 
 to your opinion. Mr. Castlemaine has only 
 to show him it is his, and send him to the 
 right about " 
 
 A knock at the room door interrupted the 
 sentence. The clerk rose to open it, and re- 
 ceived a card and a message, which he carried 
 to his master. The banker looked rather 
 startled as he read the name on it : " Anthony 
 Castlemaine." 
 
 Somewhere about an hour before this, 
 young Anthony Castlemaine, after a late 
 breakfast a la fourchette, had turned out of 
 the Dolphin Inn to walk to Stilborough. 
 Repulsed by his Uncle James on the previous 
 day, and not exactly seeing what his course 
 should be, he had come to the resolution of 
 laying his case before his other uncle, the 
 banker. Making inquiries of John Bent as 
 to the position of the banker's residence, he 
 left the inn. Haltins: for a few seconds to eaze 
 across beyond the beach, for he thought the 
 sea the most beautiful object in nature, and 
 believed he should never tire of looking- at it^ 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 I30 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 he went on up the hill, past the church, and 
 was fairly on his road to Stilborough. It 
 was a lonely road enough, never a dwelling 
 to be seen all the way, save a farm home- 
 stead or two lying away amid their buildings ; 
 but Anthony Castlemaine walked slowly, 
 taking in all the points and features of his 
 native land, that were so strange to his 
 foreign eye. He stood to read the mile- 
 stones ; he leaned on the fences ; he admired 
 the tall fine trees, leafless though they were ; 
 he critically surveyed the two or three carts 
 and waggons that passed. The sky was 
 blue, the sun bright, he enjoyed the walk and 
 did not hurry himself: but nevertheless he at 
 length reached Stilborough, and found out 
 the house of the banker. He rang at the 
 private door. 
 
 The servant who opened it saw a young 
 man dressed in a rather uncommon kind of 
 over-coat, faced with fur. The face was that 
 of a stranger ; but the servant fancied it was 
 a face he had seen before. 
 
 " Is my Uncle Peter at home ?" 
 " Sir /" returned the servant, staring at 
 him. For the only nephew the banker pos- 
 sessed, so far as he knew, was the son of the
 
 ANTHONY CASTLEMAINE ON HIS SEARCH. 1 3 1 
 
 ♦ 
 
 Master of Greylands. " What name did you 
 please to ask for, sir ?" 
 
 " Mr. Peter Castlemaine. This is his resi- 
 dence, I am told." 
 
 '* Yes, sir, it is." 
 
 " Can I see him ? Is he at home ?" 
 
 " He is at home, in his private room, sir ; 
 I fancy he is busy. I'll ask if you can see 
 him. What name shall I say, sir ?" 
 
 " You can take my card in. And please 
 say to your master that if he is busy, I can 
 Avait." 
 
 The man i^lanced at the card as he 
 knocked at the door of the private room, and 
 read the name : " Anthony Castlemaine." 
 
 "It must be a nephew from over the sea," 
 he shrewdly thought : " he looks foreign. 
 Perhaps a son of that lost Basil." 
 
 We have seen that Thomas Hill took in 
 the card and the message to his master. He 
 came back, saying the gentleman was to wait: 
 Mr. Peter Castlemaine would see him in a 
 quarter of an hour. So the servant, beguiled 
 by the family name, thought he should do 
 right to conduct the stranger upstairs to the 
 presence of Miss Castlemaine, and said so, 
 while helping him to take off his over- 
 coat. 
 
 9—2
 
 132 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 " Shall I say any name, sir ?" asked the 
 man, as he laid his hand on the handle of the 
 drawing-room door. 
 
 " Mr. Anthony Castlemaine." 
 
 Mary Ursula was alone. She sat near 
 the fire doing nothing, and very happy in her 
 idleness, for her thoughts were buried in the 
 pleasures of the past gay night ; a smile was 
 on her face. When the announcement was- 
 made, she rose in great surprise to confront 
 the visitor. The servant shut the door, and 
 Anthony came forward. 
 
 He did not commit a similar breach of 
 good manners to the one of the previous day ; 
 the results of that had shown him that fair 
 stranger cousins may not be indiscriminately 
 saluted with kisses in England. He bowed, 
 and held out his hand with a frank smile. 
 Mary Ursula did not take it : she was utterly 
 puzzled, and stood gazing at him. The like- 
 ness in his face to her father's family struck 
 her forcibly. It must be premised that she 
 did not )'et know anything about Anthony, 
 or that any such person had made his ap- 
 pearance in England. Anthony waited for 
 her to speak. 
 
 " If I understood the name aright — An- 
 thony Castlemaine — you must be, I presume,
 
 ANTHON Y CASTLEMAIXE ON HIS SEARCH. 133 
 
 some relative of my late grandfather's, sir ?" 
 she said at length. 
 
 He introduced himself fully then ; who he 
 was, and all about it. Mary Ursula met his 
 hand cordially. She never doubted him or 
 his identity for a moment. She had the gift 
 of reading countenances ; and she took to the 
 pleasant, honest face at once, so like the 
 Castlemaines in features, but with a more 
 open expression. 
 
 " I am sure you are my cousin," she said 
 in cordial welcome. " I think I should have 
 known you for a Castlemaine had I seen your 
 face in a crowd." 
 
 " I see, myself, how like I am to the 
 Castlemaines, especially to my father and 
 grandfather : though unfortunately I have 
 not inherited their height and strength," he 
 added, with a slight laugh. " My mother 
 was small and slio^ht : I take after her." 
 
 " And my poor Uncle Basil is dead !" 
 
 " Alas, yes ! Only but a few weeks ago. 
 These black clothes that I wear are in me- 
 morial of him." 
 
 " I never saw him," said ?^Iiss Castlemaine, 
 gazing at the familiar — for indeed it seemed 
 familiar — face before her, and tracing out its
 
 134 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 features. " But I have heard say my Uncle 
 Basil was just the image of his father." 
 
 " And he was," said Anthony. " When I 
 saw the picture of my grandfather yesterday 
 at Greylands' Rest, I thought it was my 
 father's hanging there." 
 
 It was a long while since Miss Castlemaine 
 had met with any one she liked so well at a 
 first interview as this young man ; and the 
 quarter of an hour passed quickly. At its 
 end, the servant again appeared, saying his 
 master would see him in his private room. 
 So he took leave of Mary Ursula, and was 
 conducted to it. 
 
 But, as it seemed, Mr. Peter Castlemaine 
 did not wait to receive him : for almost im- 
 mediately he presented himself before his 
 daughter. 
 
 " This person has been with yo7i, I find, 
 Mary Ursula ! Very wrong of Stephen to 
 have brought him up here ! I wonder what 
 possessed him to do it ?" 
 
 " I am glad he did bring him, papa," was 
 her impulsive answer. " You have no idea 
 what a sensible pleasant young man he is. I 
 would almost wish he were more even than a 
 cousin — a brother." 
 
 " Why, my dear, you must be dreaming !"'
 
 ANTHONY CASTLEMAINE ON HIS SEARCH. 135 
 
 cried the banker after a pause of astonish- 
 ment. " Cousin ! — brother ! It does not do 
 to take strange people on trust in this way. 
 The man ma}- be, and I dare say is, an ad- 
 venturer," he continued testily : " no more 
 related to the Castlemaines than I am related 
 to the Kins: of Enc^land." 
 
 She laughed. " You may take him upon 
 trust, papa, without doubt or fear. He is a 
 Castlemaine all over, save in the height. The 
 likeness to grandpapa is wonderful ; it is so 
 even to you and to Uncle James. But he 
 says he has all needful credential proofs with 
 him." 
 
 The banker, who was then looking from 
 the window, stood fincrerinGf the bunch of 
 seals that huno from his lonof and massive 
 watch-chain, his habit sometimes when in 
 deep thought. Self-interest sways us all. 
 The young man w^as no doubt the individual 
 he purported to be : but if he were going to 
 put in a vexatious claim to Greylands' Rest, 
 and so upset James, the banker might get no 
 loan from him. He turned to his dausfhter. 
 
 " You believe, then, my dear, that he is 
 really what he makes himself out to be — 
 Basil's son ?" 
 
 " Papa. I think there is no question of it.
 
 136 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 I feel sure there can be none. Rely upon it, 
 the young man is not one who would lay 
 himself out to deceive, or to countenance de- 
 ception : he is evidently honest and open as 
 the day. I never hardly saw so true a 
 face." 
 
 " Well I am very sorry," returned the 
 banker. "It may bring a great deal of 
 trouble upon James." 
 
 " In what way can it bring him trouble, 
 papa ?" questioned Mary Ursula in surprise. 
 
 " This young man — as I am informed — has 
 come over to put in a claim to Greylands' 
 Rest'" 
 
 " To Greylands' Rest !" she repeated. 
 " But that is my Uncle James's ! How can 
 any one else claim it ?" 
 
 " People may put in a claim to it ; there's 
 no law against that ; as I fear this young man 
 means to do," replied the banker, taking 
 thought and time over his answer. " He 
 may cost James no end of bother and ex- 
 pense." 
 
 " But, papa — I think indeed you must be 
 misinformed. I feel sure this young man is 
 not one who would attempt to claim anything 
 that is not his own." 
 
 " But if he supposes it to be his own ?"
 
 ANTHONY CASTLEMAINE ON HIS SEARCH. 137 
 
 " What, Greylands' Rest his ! How can 
 that be ?" 
 
 " My dear child, as yet I know almost no- 
 thinor. NothincT but a few words that Mrs. 
 
 o o 
 
 Castlemaine said to me last night.'' 
 
 " But why should he take up such a notion, 
 papa ?" she asked in surprise. 
 
 " From his father, I suppose. I know 
 Basil as much believed Greylands' Rest 
 would descend to him as he believed in his 
 Bible. However, I must go clown and see 
 this young man." 
 
 As soon as Peter Castlemaine entered his 
 private room, and let his eyes rest on the 
 face of the young man who met him so 
 frankly, he saw the great likeness to the Cas- 
 tlemaines. That it was really his nephew, 
 Basil's son, he had entertained little doubt of 
 from the first ; none, since the recent short 
 interview with his daughter. With this con- 
 viction on his mind, it never would have oc- 
 curred to him to den)' or cast doubts on the 
 young man's identity, and he accepted it at 
 once. But though he called him " Anthony" 
 or " Anthony Castlemaine " — and now and 
 then by mistake " Basil " — he did not show 
 any mark of gratification or affection, but was 
 distant and cold ; and thought it very incon-
 
 138 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 venient and ill-judged of Basil's son to be 
 bringing trouble on James. Taking his place 
 In his handsome chair, turned sideways to the 
 closed desk, he faced the young man seated 
 before him. 
 
 A few minutes were naturally spent in 
 questions and answers, chiefly as to Basil's 
 career abroad. Young Anthony gave every 
 information freely — just as he had done to his 
 Uncle James on the previous day. After 
 that, at the first pause, he passed on to the 
 subject of the inheritance. 
 
 *' Perhaps, Uncle Peter, you will not refuse 
 to give me some information about my grand- 
 father's estate, Greylands' Rest," he began. 
 " My father always assured me it would be 
 mine. He said it would come to him at his 
 father's death, and then to me afterwards — " 
 
 " He must have spoken without justifiable 
 warranty," interrupted the banker. " It did 
 not necessarily lapse to Basil, or to any one 
 else. Your grandfather could leave It to 
 whom he would." 
 
 " Of course : we never understood other- 
 wise. But my father always said that it 
 would never be left away from him." 
 
 "Then I say, that he spoke without suffi- 
 cient warranty," repeated the banker. " Am
 
 ANTHONY CASTLEMAINE ON HIS SEARCH. 139 
 
 I to understand that you have come over to 
 this country to put in a claim to Greylands' 
 Rest, on this sole justification ?" 
 
 " My father, on his dying bed, charged me 
 to come and claim it, Uncle Peter. He had 
 bequeathed it to me in his will. It was only 
 quite at the last that he learnt his father was 
 dead, and he made a fresh will at once, and 
 S^ave me the charo^e to come over without 
 delay. When I presented myself to my 
 Uncle James yesterday, he seemed much to 
 resent the fact that I should put in any claim 
 to the estate. He told me I had no right to 
 do so ; he said it was his." 
 
 " Well ?" said the banker ; for the young 
 man had paused. 
 
 " Uncle Peter, I am not unreasonable. I 
 come home to find my Uncle James in pos- 
 session of the estate, and quite ready, as I 
 gather, to oppose my claim to it ; or, I would 
 better say, to treat me and my claim with 
 contempt. Now I do not forget that my 
 grandfather 7night have left it to Uncle James ;: 
 that he had the power to do so " 
 
 " Most undoubtedly he had," again inter- 
 rupted the banker. " And I can tell you that 
 he never, to the very last, allowed anybody ta 
 interfere with his wish and will."
 
 140 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 "Well, I say I am not unreasonable, Uncle 
 Peter. Though I have come over to claim 
 the estate, I should not attempt to lay claim 
 to it in the teeth of facts. I told my Uncle 
 James so. Once let me be convinced that 
 the estate was really and fairly bequeathed to 
 him, and I would not, for the world, wish to 
 disturb him in its possession, I am not a 
 rogue." 
 
 " But he is in possession, Anthony ; and it 
 appears that you do wish to disturb him," re- 
 monstrated Mr. Peter Castlemaine. 
 
 " I beg your pardon ; I think you have not 
 quite caught my meaning. What I want is, 
 to be assured that Greylands' Rest was left 
 away from my father : that he was passed 
 over for my Uncle James. If Uncle James 
 came into it by will, or by legal deed of any 
 kind, let him just shozv me the deed or the 
 will, and that will suffice." 
 
 '* You doubt his word, then ?" 
 
 Young Anthony hesitated, before replying ; 
 and then spoke. out with ingenuous candour. 
 
 " The fact is. Uncle Peter, I deem it righl 
 to assure myself by proof, of how the matter 
 is ; for my father warned me that there might 
 be treachery " 
 
 " Treachery !" came the quick, echoing in-
 
 ANTHONY CASTLEMAINE ON HIS SEARCH. 14 J 
 
 terposition of the banker ; his dark eyes flash- 
 ing fire. 
 
 " My father thought it possible," quietly 
 continued the young man ; " he feared that, 
 even though Greylands' Rest was legally 
 mine, my claim to it might be opposed. That 
 is one reason why I press for proof ; I should 
 press for it if there existed no other. But I 
 find that doubts already were circulating 
 abroad as to how Mr. James Castlemaine 
 came into the estate, and whether it became 
 lawfully his on my grandfather's death." 
 
 " Doubts existing abroad ! Doubts where ?" 
 
 "Amid the neighbours, the people of Grey- 
 lands. I have heard one and another talk 
 of it." 
 
 " Oh, indeed !" was the cold rejoinder. 
 " Pray where are you staying ?" 
 
 "At the Dolphin Inn, Uncle Peter. When 
 I descended at it, and saw the flaming dolphin 
 on the sign-board, splashing up the water, I 
 could not help smiling ; for my father had 
 described it to me so accurately, that it seemed 
 like an old acquaintance." 
 
 Mr. Peter Castlemaine made no rejoinder, 
 and there ensued a silence. In truth, his own 
 difficulties were so weighty, that they had 
 been pressing on his mind throughout, an*
 
 142 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 undercurrent of trouble, and for the moment 
 he was lost in them, 
 
 " Will you, Uncle Peter, give me some 
 information of the true state of the case ?" 
 resumed the young man. " I came here 
 purposely, intending to ask 3^ou. You see, I 
 want to be placed at a certainty, one way or 
 the other. I "again repeat, that I am not 
 unreasonable ; I only ask to be dealt with 
 fairly and honourably. If Greylands' Rest 
 is not mine, show me that it is not ; if it is 
 mine, I ought to have it. Perhaps you will 
 tell me. Uncle Peter, how it was left." 
 
 The banker suddenly let drop his seals with 
 which he had been playing during the last 
 appeal, and turned his full attention to the 
 speaker, answering in a more frank tone than 
 lie had yet spoken, 
 
 " When your father, Basil, went away, he 
 took his full portion of money with him — a 
 third of the money we should conjointly 
 inherit. I received my portion later ; James 
 received his. Nothing remained but Grey- 
 lands' Rest and the annuity — a large one — 
 which your grandfather enjoyed from his 
 wife's family : which annuity had nothing to 
 do with us, for it would go back again at his 
 death. Greylands' Rest could be disposed
 
 ANTHONY CASTLEMAINE ON HIS SEARCH. 143 
 
 of as he should please. Does it strike you as 
 any strange thing, Anthony, that he should 
 prefer its passing to the son who was always 
 with him, rather than to the son who had 
 abandoned him and his home, and whom 
 he did not even know to be alive." 
 
 "Uncle Peter, I have said that I see reasons 
 why my grandfather might make his second 
 son his heir, rather than his eldest. If he 
 did so, I am quite ready and willing to 
 accept the fact, but I must first of all be con- 
 vinced that it is fact. It is true, is it not, that 
 my grandfather always intended to leave the 
 estate to liis eldest son, Basil ?" 
 
 " That is true," assented the banker readily. 
 " Such no doubt was his intention atone time. 
 But Basil crossed him, and went besides out 
 of sight and out of mind, and James remained 
 with him and was always a dutiful son. It 
 was much more natural that he should be- 
 queath it to James than to Basil." 
 
 " Well, will you give me the particulars of 
 the bequest. Uncle Peter ? Was the estate 
 devised by will, or by deed of gift ?" 
 
 " I decline to give you more particulars 
 than I have already given," was the prompt 
 reply of the banker. " The affair is not mine ;
 
 144 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 it is my brother James's. You find him in 
 secure possession of the estate ; you are told 
 that it is his ; and that ought to suffice. It is 
 a very presumptuous proceeding on the part 
 of Basil's son, to come over in this extra- 
 ordinary manner, without warning of any 
 kind, and attempt to question the existing 
 state of things. That is my opinion, An- 
 thony." 
 
 " Is this your final resolve, Uncle Peter ? 
 ■ — not to help me ?" 
 
 " My final, irrevocable resolve. I have 
 enough to do in attending to my own affairs, 
 without interfering with my brother's !" 
 
 Anthony Castlemaine took up his hat, and 
 put forth his hand. " I am very sorry. Uncle 
 Peter. It might have saved so much trouble. 
 Perhaps I shall have to go to law." 
 
 The banker shook hands with him in a 
 sufficiently friendly spirit : but he did not ask 
 him to remain, or to call again. 
 
 " One hint I will give you, Anthony," he 
 said, as the young man turned to the door ; 
 and he spoke, apparently, upon impulse. 
 " Were you to expend your best years and 
 your best energies upon this search, you 
 would be no wiser than you are now. The 
 Castlemaines do not brook interference ;
 
 ANTHONY CASTLEMAINE ON HIS SEARCH. 145 
 
 neither are their affairs conducted in that 
 loose manner that can afford a possibility of 
 their being inquired into : and so long as 
 Mr. Castlemaine refuses to allow you ocular 
 proof, rely upon it you will never get to have 
 it. The Castlemaines know how to hold 
 their own." 
 
 " I am a Castlemaine too, uncle, and can 
 hold my own with the best of them. Nothing 
 will turn me from my course in this matter, 
 save the proofs I have asked for." 
 
 " Good morning, Anthony." 
 
 " Good day. Uncle Peter." 
 
 Anthony put on his coat in the hall, and 
 went forth into the street. There he halted ; 
 looking this way and that way, as though 
 uncertain of his route. 
 
 " A few doors on the right hand, on the 
 other side the market-house, John Bent said." 
 he repeated to himself. " Then I must cross 
 the street, and so onwards." 
 
 He crossed over, went on past the market- 
 house, and looked attentively at the doors on 
 the other side it. On one of those doors was 
 a brass plate: "Mr. Knivett, attorney-at-law." 
 Anthony Castlemaine rang the bell, asked if 
 the lawyer was at home, and sent in one of 
 his cards. 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 He was shown into a small back room. 
 At a table, strewn with papers and pens, sat 
 an elderly man with a bald head, who was 
 evidently regarding the card with the utmost 
 astonishment. He turned his spectacles on 
 Anthony. 
 
 " Do I see Mr. Knivett, the avoue ?" he 
 asked, substituting for once a French term 
 for an English one, perhaps unconsciously. 
 
 " I am Mr. Knivett, sir, attorne^^-at-law." 
 
 In the frank free way that seemed so espe- 
 cially to characterise him, Anthony Castle- 
 maine put out his hand, as to a friend. 
 
 " You knew my father well, sir. Will you 
 receive his son for old memories' sake ?" 
 
 " Your father ?" asked Mr. Knivett, ques- 
 tioningly : but nevertheless meeting the hand 
 with his own, and glancing again at the card. 
 
 " Basil Castlemaine. He who went away 
 so long ago from Greylands' Rest." 
 
 " Bless my heart !" cried Mr. Knivett, 
 snatching off his glasses in his surprise. 
 " Basil Castlemaine ! I never thought to 
 hear of him again. Why, it must be — ay — 
 since he left, it must be hard upon five-and- 
 thirty years." 
 
 " About that, I suppose, sir." 
 • " And — is he come back ?"
 
 A NTH ON Y CAS TLEMA INE ON HIS SEA RCH. 1 47 
 
 Anthony had again to go over the old 
 story. His father's doings abroad and his 
 father's death, and his father's charge to him 
 to come home and claim his paternal inherit- 
 ance : he rehearsed it all. Mr. Knivett, who 
 was very considerably past sixty, and had put 
 his spectacles on again, never ceased gazing 
 at the relator, as they sat nearly knee to 
 knee. Not for a moment did any doubt 
 occur to him that the young man was other 
 than he represented himself to be : the face 
 was the face of a Castlemaine, and of a truth- 
 ful gentleman. 
 
 " But I have come to you, not only to show 
 myself to a friend of my poor father's in his 
 youth, but also as a client," proceeded An- 
 thony after a short while. " I have need of 
 a lawyer's advice, sir ; which I am prepared 
 to pay for according to the charges of the 
 English country. Will you advise me ?" 
 
 " To be sure," replied Mr. Knivett. 
 " What advice is it that you want ?" 
 
 " First of all, sir — In the days when my 
 father was at home, you were the solicitor to 
 my grandfather, old Anthony Castlemaine. 
 Did you continue to be so until his death .<*" 
 
 *' I did." 
 
 " Then you can, I hope, give me some 
 
 10 — J
 
 148 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 particulars that I desire to know. To whom' 
 was Greylands' Rest bequeathed — and in 
 what manner was it devised ?" 
 
 Mr. Knivett shook his head. " I cannot 
 give you any information upon the point," 
 he said. " I must refer you to Mr. Castle- 
 maine." 
 
 " I have apphed to Mr. Castlemaine, and 
 to Mr. Peter Castlemaine also : neither of 
 them will tell me anything. They met me 
 with a point blank refusal to do so." 
 
 " Ah — I daresay. The Castlemaines never 
 choose to be questioned." 
 
 " Why will not you afford me the informa- 
 tion, Mr. Knivett ?" 
 
 " For two reasons. Firstly, because the 
 probability is, that — pray understand me, 
 young sir ; note what I say — the probability 
 is, that I do not possess the information to 
 give you. Secondly, if I did possess it, my 
 relation with the family would preclude my 
 imparting it. I am the attorney to the Castle- 
 maines." 
 
 " Their confidential attorney ?" 
 
 " Some of the business I transact for them 
 is confidential." 
 
 " But see here, Mr. Knivett — ^what am I 
 to do ? I come over at the solemn command
 
 ANTHONY CASTLEMAINE ON HIS SEARCH. 1 49 
 
 of my father, delivered to me on his death- 
 bed, to put in my claim to the estate. I find 
 my Uncle James in possession of it. He says 
 it is his. Well and good : I do not say it is 
 quite unlikely to be so. But when I say to him, 
 * Show me the vouchers for it, the deed or the 
 will that you hold it by,' he shuts himself 
 metaphorically up, and says he will not show 
 me anything — that I must be satisfied with 
 his word. Now is that satisfactory ?" 
 
 " I daresay it does not appear so to you." 
 
 "If there was a will made, let them allow 
 me to see the will ; if it was bequeathed by a 
 deed of gift, let me read the deed of gift. 
 Can there be anything more fair than what I 
 ask ? If Greylands' Rest is legally my Uncle 
 Jamies's, I should not be so foolish or so un- 
 just as to wish to deprive him of it." 
 
 Mr. Knivett sat back in his chair, pressing 
 the tips of his fingers together, and politely 
 listeninof. But comment made he none. 
 
 " To go back home, without prosecuting 
 my claim, is what I shall never do, unless I 
 am convinced that I have no claim to prose- 
 cute," continued Anthony. " Well, sir, I 
 shall want a leo-al oentleman to advise me 
 how to set about the investiofation of the 
 affair ; and hence I come to you."
 
 ISO THE M^ISTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 " I have shown you why I cannot advise 
 you," said Mr. Knivett — and his manner was- 
 ever so many shades colder than it had been 
 at first. '' I am the attorney to Mr. Castle- 
 maine." 
 
 " You cannot help me at all, then ?" 
 
 " Not at all ; in this." 
 
 It sounded rather hard to the young man, 
 as he rose from his seat to depart. All he 
 wanted was fair play, open dealing ; and it 
 seemed that he could not get it. 
 
 " My Uncle Peter, with whom I have just 
 been, said a thing that I did not like," he 
 stayed to remark ; " it rather startled me. I 
 presume — I should think — that he is a man 
 of strict veracity ?" 
 
 " Mr. Peter Castlemaine ? Undoubtedly." 
 
 " Well, sir, what he said was this. That 
 were I to spend my best years and energies 
 in the search after information, I should be 
 no wiser at the end than I am now." 
 
 " That I believe to be extremely pro- 
 bable," cordially assented the lawyer. 
 
 " But do you see the position in which it 
 would leave me ? Years and years ! — and I 
 am not to be satisfied one way or the other .^" 
 
 The attorney froze again. " Ah, yes ; 
 true."
 
 ANTHONY CASTLEMAINE ON HJS SEARCH. 151 
 
 " Well, sir, I will say good day to you, for 
 it seems that I can do no good by staying, 
 and I must not take up your time for no- 
 thing. I only wish you had been at liberty 
 to advise me." 
 
 Mr. Knivett made some civil rejoinder 
 about wishing that he had been. So they 
 parted, and the young man found himself in 
 the street arain. Until now it had been one 
 of the brightest of days ; but during this short 
 interview at the lawyer's, the weather seemed 
 to have changed. The skies, as Anthony 
 Castlemaine looked up, were now dull and 
 threatening^. The clouds had lowered. He 
 buttoned his warm coat about him, and began 
 his walk back to Greylands. 
 
 " Je crois que nous aurons de la neige," he 
 said, in the familiar language to which he 
 was most accustomed, " et je n'ai pas de para- 
 pluie. N'importe ; je marcherai vite." 
 
 Walk fast ! And to Greylands ! Could 
 poor Anthony Castlemaine have foreseen the 
 black pall of Fate, already closing upon him 
 like a dreadful shadow, he had turned his 
 steps away from Greylands for ever.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 IN THE MOONLIGHT. 
 
 HITE clouds were passing over the 
 face of the blue sky, casting their 
 light and their shade on the glorious 
 sea. Not for a minute together 
 did the sea present the same surface ; its hue, 
 its motions, and its ripples were for ever 
 changing. Now, it would be blue and clear 
 almost as crystal ; anon, green and still ; next, 
 sparkling like diamonds under the sunlight : 
 and each aspect seemed more beautiful than 
 that which it had displaced. 
 
 To Anthony Castlemaine, gazing at it from 
 his bedroom at the Dolphin Inn, no object in 
 nature had ever seemed so beautiful. Not 
 the vineyards of his native land ; not the 
 sunny plains of Italy ; not the grand, pictu- 
 resque mountains of Switzerland : all these
 
 IN THE MOONLIGHT. 153 
 
 he had been accustomed to from his youtli, 
 and they were fair to look upon : but to him 
 they were as nothing, compared with this 
 wide, wondrous, ever-changing sea. 
 
 Some days, a very few, had elapsed since his 
 visit to Stilborough, told of in the last chapter. 
 Another week had come in, and this was the 
 Tuesday in it : destined to be a most fatal 
 day for more than one person connected with 
 our story. The snow-storm he had antici- 
 pated, in his homeward walk that afternoon, 
 had passed off without falling ; the cold Itself 
 seemed on the next day to have taken its de- 
 parture. With that variable caprice that dis- 
 tinguishes our insular climate, the biting frost, 
 the keen east wind, that had almost cut people 
 through, had given place to the warm, cheer- 
 ing weather of a balmy spring. 
 
 Anthony Castlemaine had opened the case- 
 ment window to admit the genial air, the 
 fresh sea-breeze, and stood there in profound 
 thought. On the table lay a letter he had 
 just written. Its seal of black wax was 
 stamped with the Castlemaine crest, and it 
 was addressed to his native place, Gap, Dau- 
 phine. Some shouting arose on the beach, 
 drawing his attention. A fishing-boat was 
 preparing to put out ; one of her men had
 
 154 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 not come down, and the two others and the 
 shrill boy were raising their voices to make 
 the laggard hear. He went dashing out of 
 the Dolphin Inn, just under the view of 
 Anthony. 
 
 Anthony Castlemaine was in perplexity. 
 He did not see his way any clearer before 
 him than he had seen it when he first came. 
 That Greylands' Rest was legally his he 
 entertained no doubt of ; but, to prove it, was 
 another matter. He and Mr. Castlemaine 
 had met one day near the Dolphin ; they had 
 talked for a few minutes, but Anthony could 
 make out nothing. Twice since then he had 
 presented himself at Greylands' Rest, and 
 Mr. Castlemaine had been denied to him. 
 It was quite evident he meant to have no- 
 thing more to do with Anthony. 
 
 The waves of the sea sparkled and rippled ; 
 the sun came out from behind a fleecy cloud, 
 and shone with renewed strength ; a beautiful 
 vessel in the distance was passing with all 
 her sails set. 
 
 " It is very strange behaviour," mused 
 Anthony. "If the estate belongs in truth to 
 my Uncle James, why can he not show me 
 that it does ? His not showing it almost 
 proves of itself that it is mine. I must get
 
 FN THE MOONLIGHT. 155 
 
 to see him : I cannot stay in the dark like 
 this." 
 
 Taking up the letter, he descended the 
 stairs, went across to the little general shop 
 near the beach, and dropped it into the letter- 
 box. He was quite at home in Greylands 
 now, had made acquaintance with its inhabit- 
 ants, and was known and recognised as the 
 grandson of old Anthony Castlemaine. In 
 returning, he met one of the Grey Sisters. 
 Lifting his hat, he bowed to her with deep 
 respect : for he regarded the Grey Ladies as 
 a religious order, and in his native land these 
 female communities are held in reverence. 
 Little Sister Phceby — she was very short and 
 stout, and nearly middle-aged, and only one 
 of the working sisters — bobbed down her 
 grey head in return, giving him a kindly 
 good- morrow. 
 
 " And John Bent thinks that Mr. Casde- 
 maine derides these good ladies !" thought 
 Anthony. "It must be fancy. John has 
 
 fancies. He Dear me ! here's that 
 
 charminy: demoiselle ag^ain !" 
 
 She was advancing swiftly, seemingly wish- 
 ing to catch Sister Phoeby, her pretty figure 
 attired becomingly in a light silk dress and 
 short scarlet cloak with silken tassels ; her
 
 156 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 strangely-beautiful eyes were cast on the sea 
 with the same look of lovino- admiration that 
 Anthony's own sometimes wore when gazing 
 at it. He could have wished that this young 
 lady was his sister, or really his cousin : for 
 Anthony had not seen many faces in his life 
 that he so believed in for truth and goodness 
 and beauty as Ethel Reene's. 
 
 They had nearly met before she observed 
 him. He stopped and addressed some words 
 to her in deprecation of his former fault, keep- 
 ing his hat off while he spoke. Ethel an- 
 swered him frankly, and held out her hand. 
 Since the previous encounter, she had had 
 time to digest the offence, to understand how 
 it had arisen, and that he had not the least 
 intention of insulting her ; she had also been 
 favourably impressed with what she had heard 
 abroad of Anthony Castlemaine. 
 
 " Let us forget it," said Ethel, with her 
 sweet smile. " I understand now how it hap- 
 pened ; I know you did not intend any offence. 
 Are you going to make a long stay at the 
 Dolphin ?" 
 
 " That must depend partly on Mr. Castle- 
 maine," replied Anthony. " He will not give 
 me an interview, and for myself I can scarcely 
 see a step before my face. I must ask him
 
 IN THE MOONLIGHT. 157 
 
 once more to listen to me ; I hope he will. I 
 had some thought of going to him this 
 afternoon." 
 
 " He is at home," said Ethel innocently, 
 who onl)' very imperfectly understood the 
 trouble looming between the young man 
 before her and Mr. Castlemaine. 
 
 " At home now ? Then I will oro to him 
 at once," said he, acting on the impulse of the 
 moment : and he again offered his hand to 
 Ethel. " Adieu. I hope you have quite 
 forgiven me, Miss Castlemaine." 
 
 " I have quite forgiven you, indeed : but I 
 am not Miss Castlemaine, you know," she 
 said, laughing, as she let her hand rest in his. 
 " You will know my name better soon- 
 Ethel Reene. Good-bye." 
 
 " And during her after-life Ethel was wont 
 to look back often on this little meeting, and 
 to feel thankful that it had taken place, and 
 that it was a pleasant one. For she never 
 again saw the ill-fated young man in this 
 world. 
 
 Re-crossing the road, and passing the inn 
 corner, Anthony got into the fields on his way 
 to Greylands' Rest. They were pleasanter 
 than the road that sunshiny afternoon. He
 
 158 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 walked along in deep thought, deliberating 
 on what he should say. 
 
 Ah, if he could but have seen behind him ! 
 A double shadow followed him — as the poet 
 Hood wrote of Miss Kilmansegg going up- 
 stairs to her doom. His own natural shadow 
 and another. Nearer and nearer it had been 
 gradually drawing as the days went on ; and 
 now on this day it lay ready to close on him — 
 as it would close ere the clock had told many 
 more hours : the dark, dreadful, ominous 
 shadow of death. Of a death done in dark- 
 ness and secret. 
 
 In the last field, side by side with the 
 avenue that led to Greylands' Rest, while 
 Anthony was wondering whether he should 
 be permitted to see his uncle or not, his uncle 
 suddenly stood in front of him, coming through 
 the little gateway that led into the field. 
 
 The Master of Greylands, erect, well 
 dressed, handsome, would have passed him 
 with a slight nod, but Anthony put himself in 
 his way. 
 
 " Uncle James, I beg your pardon ; I would 
 not wish to be rude ; but will you allow me to 
 speak a few little words to you ?" 
 
 " I am in a hurry," said Mr. Castle- 
 maine.
 
 LY THE MOONLIGHT. 159 
 
 "■ Will you give me then a short interview 
 at your house this evening ? Or to-morrow 
 morning, if that will suit you better." 
 
 " No," replied Mr. Castlemaine. 
 
 " Twice I have been to Greylands' Rest, 
 asking to see you, Uncle James; and twice 
 have I been denied. Though the last time I 
 think you were at home, and that you saw me 
 from the window." 
 
 " You cannot have anything to say to me 
 that I wish to hear or that would be profitable 
 to yourself," returned the Master of Grey- 
 lands : " for that reason I was denied to you. 
 Our first interview was not so satisfactory 
 that we need wish for another." 
 
 " But it is necessary that we should con- 
 verse," returned the young man. "I am 
 waiting to have this question settled as to 
 Greylands' Rest." 
 
 " What question ?" demanded Mr. Castle- 
 maine, with haughty indifference — just as 
 though he had quite forgotten anything had 
 ever arisen in regard to it. 
 
 " Greylands' Rest is yours, Uncle James, or 
 it is mine. I must ascertain which of us it 
 belongs to. You decline to tell me " 
 
 " Decline to tell )ou,"' interrupted Mr. 
 Casdemaine. " Cannot you use your own
 
 l6o THE MASTER OE GREYLANDS. 
 
 eyes and your judgment, and see that it is 
 mine," 
 
 " I see that you are in possession of it, 
 Uncle James ; I see no farther. You decline 
 to show me anything of the facts : my Uncle 
 Peter declines ; Knivett, the attorn ey-at-law, 
 declines." 
 
 " Have you applied to Knivett ?" 
 
 " Yes, last week," 
 
 The eyes of Mr. Castlemaine flashed fire. 
 " How dare you do such a thing, sir, as 
 attempt to interfere in my affairs ? Tamper 
 with my man of business ! By heaven, I 
 have a great mind to give you into cus- 
 tody !" 
 
 " Do not let us quarrel, Uncle James ; suffer 
 me to say what little I have to say quietly. I 
 did not go to Mr. Knivett otherwise than 
 openly. He said he could tell me nothing; 
 and I recognized the weight of his objection 
 — that he is your attorney. Being so, he of 
 course cannot act for me." 
 
 " Perhaps you tried to bribe him to act 
 for you," scoffed Mr. Castlemaine, who was 
 foolishly beginning to lose his temper. 
 
 " I would not do any mean or dishonourable 
 thing. Uncle James ; I am a Castlemaine, and 
 my father's son. But what I have to say ta
 
 IN THE MOONLIGHT. i6l 
 
 you is this, that matters cannot rest as they 
 are : and I wish you full)- to understand what 
 my course will be if you do not give me the 
 satisfaction I require, as to who is the true 
 owner of Greylands' Rest. Only show me 
 that it is yours, and I make my bow of de- 
 parture from Greylands." 
 
 " You are pretty insolent for a young- man !" 
 retorted Mr. Castlemaine, looking down on 
 him with scorn. " Do you suppose such an 
 application was ever made to a gentleman 
 before ? You speak of your father, my brother 
 Basil : had some impudent stranger presented 
 himself before him, and demanded to see 
 title-deeds of his, what would his answer have 
 been, think you ?" 
 
 " Circumstances alter cases. Uncle James. 
 My case is different from the imaginary one 
 that you put. Only satisfy me that the place 
 is yours, and I ask no more. I have a right 
 to know so much." 
 
 " You never shall know it : for your inso- 
 lence, you shall never know more than you 
 know now. Do your best and worst." 
 
 " Then you will leave me no resource but 
 to proceed," returned the }'oung man, who 
 maintained his temper and his courtesy in a 
 notable degree. " I shall employ the best 
 
 VOL. I. II
 
 1 62 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 lawyer I can call to my aid, and act on his 
 advice." 
 
 " Tush !" was the contemptuous answer. 
 " Go and put in a claim to Parson Marston's 
 church — to the Dolphin Inn, — to the beach 
 itself! Claim all, and see how far a lawyer 
 will advance you in it." 
 
 " I wish you had met me temperately, Uncle 
 James. I only ask what is fair — to be satis- 
 fied. It is the talk of the neighbours now : 
 they say you ought to satisfy me ; they think 
 you would do it if it were in your power." 
 
 " What ?" roared Mr. Castlemaine. 
 
 Had Anthony seen the storm he was pro- 
 voking, he had surely not continued. He 
 did not wish to irritate Mr. Castlemaine : all 
 he wanted was to show him the reasons of 
 his proposed attempted investigation — to 
 prove to him that he was justified in what he 
 meant to do. The truth was, the young 
 man, who was by nature just, honourable, and 
 kindly, who had never in his life attempted 
 to take a mean advantage of friend or enemy, 
 felt half ashamed and deeply grieved to be 
 thus thrown into adverse contact with his 
 newly-found relatives ; and he sought to 
 show that he had justifiable excuse for it. 
 
 " It is not my fault, uncle, if the people
 
 IN THE MOONUGHT. 163 
 
 thus give their opinion : I did not ask for it, 
 or provoke them to it. What they say has 
 reason in it, as it seems to me. When the 
 popular behef prevailed, that my grandfather 
 would not leave his estate away from his 
 eldest son, Basil, and when it was never 
 known how he did leave it, or to whom, or 
 anything about it, save that his second son 
 remained in possession, why they talked. 
 That is what I am told. It would be a satis- 
 faction to the public as well as to me, Uncle 
 James, if you will suffer the truth to be 
 known." 
 
 It was not often that the Master of Grey- 
 lands allowed anger to overpower him. In 
 his younger days he had been subject to fits 
 of intemperate passion, but time and self- 
 control had well-nigh stamped the failing out. 
 Perhaps until this moment he had believed it 
 had left him for ever. His passion rose 
 now : his face was scarlet ; his clenched hands 
 were kept by force down to his side, lest 
 they should deal a blow at Anthony. Thcni, 
 so far, he controlled, but not his tongue : and 
 he poured forth a torrent of abuse. 
 
 " Go back to where you came from, inso- 
 lent, upstart braggart !" were the words he 
 finished up with. " You are no true son of 
 
 1 1—2
 
 l64 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 my brother Basil. Ill-doing though he was^ 
 he was not a fire-brand, striving to spread 
 malignant dissension amid a peaceable com- 
 munity." 
 
 " Uncle James, I shall never go back until 
 I have come to the bottom of this matter," 
 spoke the young man firmly : and it may be 
 that his unruffled temper, his very calmness 
 of bearing, only served to irritate all the 
 more Mr. Castlemaine. " The best man of 
 law that London will afford I shall summon 
 to my aid : he must force you to show the 
 title by which you hold possession of the 
 estate ; and we shall then see which has the 
 most right to it, you or I." 
 
 The words inflamed Mr. Castlemaine al- 
 most to madness. With a fierce oath — and 
 bad lano;uao:e. though common enough then, 
 was what he was rarely, if ever, betrayed tO' 
 use — he lifted his riorht hand to strike. An- 
 thony, startled, got away. 
 
 " What have I done to merit this treat- 
 ment. Uncle James ?" he remonstrated. " Is 
 it because I am a relative ? You would not, 
 for shame, so treat a stranger." 
 
 But the Master of Greylands, flinging back 
 a word and look of utter contempt, went 
 striding on his Ava}', leaving his nephew alone.
 
 IN THE MOONLIGHT. 165 
 
 Now it happened that this contest was wit- 
 nessed by the superintendent of the coast- 
 guard, Mr. Netdeby, who was walking along 
 the path of the neighbouring field behind the 
 far-off intervening hedge, bare at that season. 
 He could not hear the words that passed — the 
 whole field was between — but he saw they 
 were angry ones, and that the Master of 
 Greylands was in a foaming passion. Calling 
 in at the Dolphin Inn, he related before one 
 or two people what he had seen : and An- 
 thony, when he returned soon after, gave the 
 history of the interview. 
 
 " I'm sure I thought Mr. Castlemaine 
 struck you, sir," resumed the officer. 
 
 " No, but he would have liked to strike 
 me," said Anthony. " I stepped back from 
 his hand. It is very foolish of him." 
 
 " I think he would like to kill ]\Ir. An- 
 thony, for my part, by the way he treats 
 him," said John Bent. But the words were 
 only spoken in the heat of partisanship, with- 
 out actual meaning : just as we are all given 
 to hasty assertions on occasion. However, 
 they w^ere destined to be remembered after- 
 wards by Greylands. 
 
 Somewhat later, John Bent and his guest 
 ■were standing at the front door, talking to-
 
 i66 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 gether of the general perplexity of things. 
 The sun was setting in the west in beautiful 
 clouds of rose colour and amber, showing the 
 advance of evening. John began to think he 
 had better be laying the cloth for the parlour 
 dinner, unless he wanted his wife about him. 
 And — here she was ! her cherry-coloured rib- 
 bons right over his shoulder. 
 
 At that moment, careering down the road 
 from Greylands' Rest, came Harry Castle- 
 maine on his spirited horse. His over-coat 
 was rolled up and strapped on the saddle, 
 and he looked as though mounted for a jour- 
 ney. On the road he was bent, the Chapel 
 Lane would have been the nearest way ; 
 but when on horseback Harry always 
 took the front way from his house, though 
 it might involve a round through the vil- 
 lage. 
 
 " Going out a pleasuring, Mr. Harr}' ?" 
 cried the landlady, as he reined-in. 
 
 " Going out a businessing," corrected the 
 young man, in his free and careless manner, 
 as he nodded and smiled at Anthony — for he 
 did not share in his father's discourteous be- 
 haviour to their new relative, though he had 
 not yet made advances to any intimacy. " A 
 beautiful sunset, is it not ?"
 
 IN THE MOONLIGHT. 167 
 
 " Quite very beautiful," replied Anthony. 
 
 " I am bound for Newerton, Mrs. Bent," 
 resumed Harry. " Can I do anything for you 
 there ?" 
 
 " Nothing, thank you, sir." 
 
 " What, not even choose you some cap 
 ribbons ? Newerton ribbons, you know, take 
 the conceit out of those at Stilborough." 
 
 " You must always have your joke, Mr. 
 Harry ! As if a fine young gentleman like 
 you would trouble himself to choose an old 
 woman's ribbons !" 
 
 " See if I don't bring you some ! Mean- 
 while, John, suppose you give me a glass of 
 ale, to speed me on my journey." 
 
 The landlord brought the ale, handing it 
 up on a waiter ; somewhat to his own dis- 
 comfort, for the horse was prancing and rear- 
 ing. Harry Castlemaine drank it ; and with 
 a general nod, an intimation that he should 
 return on the morrow, and a wave of the hand 
 to his cousin, he rode away. 
 
 Anthony went round the corner of the 
 house to look after him. Not being anything 
 great in horsemanship himself, he admired 
 those who were. He admired also the tall, 
 fine form, the handsome face, and the free, 
 frank bearing of Havy Castlemaine ; and a
 
 i68 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 hope in that moment arose in his heart that 
 they might become good friends if he re- 
 mained in England. He stood and watched 
 him up the road until its bending hid him 
 from view. Harry's route lay past the Grey 
 Nunnery, past the coast-guard station higher 
 up, and so onwards. Newerton was a town 
 of some importance at about ten miles dis- 
 tance. 
 
 The remaining events of the evening, so 
 far as they concerned Anthony Castlemaine, 
 were destined to assume importance and to be 
 discussed for days and weeks afterwards. 
 He took his dinner at six, John Bent waiting 
 on him as usual ; afterwards, he sat alone for 
 an hour or two in deep thought. At least, 
 Mrs. Bent, coming in to take away his coffee- 
 cup, assumed him to be deep in thought as he 
 did not speak to her, an unusual thing. He 
 sat between the table and the fire, his elbow 
 resting on the former and his fingers pressing 
 his right temple. The landlady had never 
 seen him so still, or look so solemn ; there 
 was a cloud as of some dread care upon his 
 face — she declared so to the world afterwards. 
 Could it have been that in those, the last few 
 hours of his life on earth, a foreshadowing of 
 the dreadful fate about to overtake liim was
 
 IN THE MOONLICHT. 169 
 
 presented in some vague manner to his mind ? 
 It miofht have been so. 
 
 About nine o'clock he suddenly asked the 
 landlord to fetch down his inkstand and 
 paper-case, which he had left in his bedroom ; 
 and then he wrote a letter, sealed it as he had 
 the one in the afternoon, and put on it the 
 same address. By-and-by, John Bent came 
 in again to look to the fire. 
 
 " I have made up my mind to get another 
 interview with Mr. Castlemaine before I apply 
 for legal advice," spoke Anthony. 
 
 " Bless me !" exclaimed John Bent, for the 
 words surprised him. 
 
 " Yes. I have been thinkino- it well over 
 
 o 
 
 from beginning to end ; and I see that I ought 
 to give my Uncle James one more opportunity 
 to setde it amicably, before bringing the dis- 
 pute openly before the world, and causing a 
 scandal. He was in a passion this afternoon, 
 and perhaps did not quite understand me : 
 when he shall have had time to reflect he may 
 be more reasonable." 
 
 John Bent shook his head. In his own mind 
 he did not believe that fifty fresh appeals 
 would have any effect on Mr. Castlemaine. 
 
 " I say this to myself," went on Anthony : 
 " Whether Greylands' Rest is his b)- riglit or
 
 I70 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 not, he is in possession of it. Nobody can 
 deny that. And I have tried to put myself 
 in imagination in his place, and I see how 
 cruel a blow it would seem if a stranger came 
 to seek to deprive me of it, I might be as 
 angry as he is." 
 
 " Then, sir, do you intend to leave him in 
 possession of it ?" returned the landlord. 
 
 " No, no ; you do not comprehend. I must 
 enforce my claim ; if the estate is mine, I will 
 never yield it — to him, or to any one. But it 
 may be his : and I think it is only just to offer 
 him one more opportunity of privately satisfy- 
 ing me, before I take any proceedings. I 
 shall do so. If I cannot see him to-morrow, 
 I will write to him fully." 
 
 " The meeting might only lead to another 
 quarrel, Mr. Anthony." 
 
 " Well — yes — I have thought of that. And 
 I fear he would injure me if he could," added 
 the young man, in a dreamy manner, and 
 speaking to him.self instead of to his landlord. 
 " There : don't put more coal, please : it is 
 too warm." 
 
 John Bent went away with his coal-scuttle. 
 He remarked to his wife that their inmate 
 did not seem in his usual good spirits. Mrs. 
 Bent, trimming one of her smart caps at the
 
 IN THE MOONLIGHT. 17E 
 
 round table by the fire, answered that she 
 knew as much as that without being told ; and 
 that he (John) had better see that Molly was 
 properly attending to the company in the 
 public-room. 
 
 It was considerably past ten, and the com- 
 pany — as Mrs. Bent called them, which con- 
 sisted principally of fishermen — were singing a 
 jovial song, when Anthony Castlemaine came 
 out of his parlour, the letter in his hand. Just 
 as he had posted the one written in the after- 
 noon, so he went over to the box now and 
 posted this. After that, he took a turn up 
 and down the beach, listening to the low 
 murmuring of the sea, watching the moon- 
 beams as they played on the water. It was 
 a most beautiful night ; the air still and warm, 
 the moon rather remarkably bright. That 
 Greylands' Rest was his own legally now, and 
 would soon be his own practically, he enter- 
 tained no doubt, and he lost himself in visions 
 of the pleasant life he might lead there. 
 Thus the time slipped unconsciously on, and 
 when he got back to the Dolphin the clock 
 had struck eleven. John Bent's company 
 were taking their departure — for the house 
 closed at the sober hour of eleven — John's 
 man M-as shutting the shutters, and John him-
 
 172 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 self Stood outside his door, his hat on his head 
 and a pipe in his mouth. 
 
 " A lovely night, sir, isn't it ?" he began. 
 " A'most like summer. I've been finishing 
 my pipe outside on the bench here." 
 
 " Lovely indeed," replied Anthony. " I 
 could never tire of looking at the sea 
 yonder." 
 
 They paced about together before the 
 bench, talking, and presently extended their 
 stroll up the hill. Mr. Nettleby's residence, 
 a fair-sized, pretty cottage, stood back from 
 the road in its garden, just opposite the Grey 
 Nunnery ; and Mr. Nettleby, smoking his 
 pipe, was at the outer gate. 
 
 When that fatal night was gone and past, 
 and people began to recall its events, they said 
 how chance trifles seemed to have worked 
 together to bring about the ill. Had Anthony 
 Castlemaine not written that letter, the proba- 
 bility was that he would never have gone out 
 at all ; on returning from the post and the 
 beach, had the landlord not been outside the 
 inn, he would at once have entered : and 
 finally, had the superintendent of the coast- 
 guard not been at his gate, they would not 
 have stayed abroad. 
 
 Mr. Nettleby invited them in, hospitably
 
 IN THE MOONLIGHT. 173 
 
 offering them a pipe and glass. He had busi- 
 ness abroad that night, and therefore had not 
 retired to rest. They consented to enter, 
 "just for a minute." 
 
 The minute extended itself to the best part 
 of an hour. Once seated there by the fire, and 
 plunged into a sea of talk, they were in no 
 hurry to move again. Anthony Castlemaine 
 accepted a pipe, John Bent refilled his. The 
 former took a glass of sugar and water — at 
 which Mr. Netdeby made a wry face ; John 
 Bent had a elass of weak Hollands, which 
 lasted him during the visit : he was no 
 drinker. 
 
 The conversation turned on various mat- 
 ters. On the claims of Anthony to Grey- 
 lands' Rest, which had become quite a popular 
 topic ; on the social politics of Greylands, and 
 on other subjects. Under a strong Injunction 
 of secrecy, Mr. Nettleby imparted certain 
 suspicions that he was entertaining of a small 
 hamlet called Beeton, a mile or two higher 
 up the coast. He believed some extensive 
 smuggling was carried on there, and he j^ur- 
 posed paying a visit to the place that very 
 night, to look out for anything there might be 
 to see. Anthony inquired whether he was 
 extensively troubled by smugglers, and tlie
 
 174 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 superintendent said No ; very little indeed, 
 considering that the coast lay so convenient 
 for Holland and other suspicious countries : 
 but he had his doubts. 
 
 They all went out together. It was twelve 
 o'clock, or close upon it. Mr. Nettleby's road 
 lay to the left ; theirs to the right. However, 
 they turned to accompany him a short dis- 
 tance, seduced to it by the beauty of the 
 niirht. 
 
 " In for a penny, in for a pound," thought 
 John Bent. " The missis can't go on more if 
 I stay out for another hour than she'll go on 
 now." 
 
 But they did not walk far : just to the top 
 of the hill, and a short way beyond it. They 
 then wished the officer good-night, and turned 
 back again. 
 
 The Friar's Keep looked ghastly enough 
 in the moonlight. Anthony Castlemaine 
 glanced up at its roof, dilapidated in places, 
 at its dark casement windows. " Let us 
 watch a minute," said he, jestingly, " perhaps 
 the Grey Monk will appear." 
 
 John Bent smiled. They had passed the 
 entrance to Chapel Lane, and were standing 
 within the thick privet hedge and the grove 
 of trees which overshadowed it. Not that the
 
 IN rilE MOONLIGHT. 175 
 
 trees eave much shadow at that season, for 
 their branches were bare. 
 
 " Tell me again the legend of the Grey 
 Monk," said Anthony. " I partly forget it." 
 
 John Bent proceeded to do as he was bid, 
 lowerinof his voice as befitted the time and 
 subject. But he had scarcely begun the nar- 
 rative when the sound of approaching foot- 
 steps struck on their ears, and his voice in- 
 voluntarily died away into silence. At the 
 first moment, they thought the superintendent 
 was returning. 
 
 But no. The footsteps came from Chapel 
 Lane. They drew more closely within the 
 cover of the hedge, and waited. A gentle- 
 man, walking fast and firmly, emerged from 
 the lane, crossed the road, went in at the 
 gate of the chapel ruins, seemed to take a 
 hasty glance out over the sea, and then passed 
 into the Friar's Keep. Very much to the 
 astonishment of John Bent, and somewhat to 
 that of Anthony, they recognized Mr. Castle- 
 maine. 
 
 "He was taking a look at the sea by moon- 
 light," whispered Anthony. " I'll go after 
 him. I will. And we'll have it out under 
 the moonbeams. What's he doing now. I 
 wonder, in that Friar's Keep ?"
 
 176 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 Before John Bent could stop him — and, as 
 the landlord said later, an impulse prompted 
 him to attempt it- — -the young man was off like 
 a shot ; entered the gate in the wake of his 
 uncle, and disappeared amid the cloisters of 
 the Friar's Keep. 
 
 The Master of Greylands must have emer- 
 ged safely enough from those ghostly clois- 
 ters : since he was abroad and well the next 
 day as usual ; but the ill-fated Anthony 
 Castlemaine was never again seen in this 
 life.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 COMMOTION AT STILBQROUGH. 
 
 N that same fatal Tuesday — and fatal 
 it might well be called, so much of 
 evil did it bring in its train — there 
 was commotion at Stilborough. Dis- 
 agreeable rumours of some kind had got 
 abroad, touching the solvency of the bank. 
 Whence they arose, who had originated them, 
 and what they precisely meant, nobody knew, 
 nobody could tell : but they were being whis- 
 pered about from one man to another, and 
 the bank's creditors rose up in astonishment 
 and fear. 
 
 " Is it true ? It cannot be." " Wlial is it ? 
 — what's amiss ? Not possible for Peter 
 Castlemaine to be shaky. Where did you 
 hear it ? I'd trust the bank with my life, let 
 alone my money." " But it's said that some 
 gigantic speculation has failed ?" ** Nonsense ! 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 the bank would stand twenty failures : don't 
 believe a syllable of it," " Well, rumour says 
 the bank will stop to-morrow." *' Stop to- 
 morrow! What shall we do for our money?" 
 " Don't know. / shall get mine out to-day." 
 
 The above sentences, and others similar to 
 them, might be heard from different people 
 in the streets of Stilborough. Those who 
 were ultra-cautious went into the bank and 
 asked for their money. At first Thomas Hill 
 paid : he thought the demands were only in 
 the regular course of business : but in a short 
 while he saw what it was — that a run upon 
 the bank was setting in ; and he went into 
 Mr. Peter Castlemaine's private room to con- 
 sult his master. Fortunately the rumours had 
 only gone afloat late in the afternoon, and it 
 was now within a few minutes of the usual 
 time of closing. Not that, earlier or later, it 
 could have made much difference in the 
 calamity ; but it saved some annoyance to the 
 bank's inmates. 
 
 Had the bank been solvent, it would of 
 course have kept its doors open, irrespective 
 of hours and custom ; being insolvent, it closed 
 them to the minute, and the shutters too. 
 Had Mr. Peter Castlemaine been able to 
 meet the demands for money, he would have
 
 COMMOTION A T STILBORO UGH. \ 79 
 
 been in the public room, with a clear face, 
 reassuring the applicants : as it was, he bolted 
 himself in his parlour. The clerks drew down 
 the shutters and shut the doors against the 
 public : two or three of the young men, who 
 had to go out with letters or messages, got 
 away through the private entrance. Back 
 went Thomas Hill to his master, knocking at 
 the door when he found it fastened. 
 
 " It is only me, sir. All's safe." 
 
 Peter Castlemaine opened it. A change, 
 that the faithful old clerk did not like to see, was 
 in his face. Hill's own face was scared and 
 white enough just then, as he well knew ; but 
 it could not wear the peculiar, sickly, shrunken 
 look he saw on his master's. 
 
 " Where are they, Thomas ? Is it really a 
 run r 
 
 " Really and truly, sir. -What an unfortu- 
 nate circumstance ! A few days, and ' you 
 would have tided it over." 
 
 " But where are they all ?" 
 
 "Outside, sir, in the street, kicking and 
 thumping at the doors and windows ; a great 
 crowd of them by this time, and growing a 
 bigger one every minute. We managed to 
 o-et the doors shut as the clock struck, and 
 then put down the shutters." 
 
 12—2
 
 i8o THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS . 
 
 Mr. Castlemaine drew his hand across 
 his aching brow. " I think this must have 
 been caused by Fosbrook," he remarked. 
 *"He may have let an incautious word 
 drop." 
 
 " He'd not do it, sir." 
 
 " Not intentionally : for his own sake. I 
 knew it boded no good when I found he 
 meant to stay on at the Turk's Head. Alas ! 
 Alas !" 
 
 " There has not been a regular stoppage," 
 said Thomas Hill. " And if we can manage 
 to get assistance, and open again to-morrow 
 mornino^ " 
 
 " Don't, Hill," interrupted the banker, in a 
 tone of painful wailing. " Don't speak of 
 hope ! There's no hope left." 
 
 " But, sir, when the remittance, which we 
 expect, comes " 
 
 " Hush ! look here." 
 
 Mr. Peter Castlemaine pushed an open 
 letter towards his clerk. The old man's hands 
 trembled as he held it ; his face grew whiter 
 as he mastered the contents. Hope was 
 indeed gone. The worst had come. An 
 embargo, or lien, had been laid in London 
 upon the expected remittances. 
 
 " Did you get this letter this morning, sir ?
 
 COMMO TION A T STILBOROUGH. \ 8 r 
 
 Why did you not tell me? It would have 
 been better to have stopped then." 
 
 " I got it ten minutes ago, Thomas. It 
 was sent from town by a special messenger 
 in a post-chaise and four ; which, of course, 
 the estate will be charged with. He came, 
 by mistake I suppose, to the private door ; or 
 perhaps he saw the crowd round the public 
 one : and he gave the letter into my own 
 hands, saying he would take my instructions 
 back to town to-morrow morning, if I had any. 
 All's over." 
 
 Too truly did Thomas Hill feel the force 
 of the words. All was over. But for this 
 last great misfortune, this lien upon the money 
 that ought to have come, they might have 
 weathered the storm. The few past days 
 had gone on pretty quietly ; and every day, 
 passed without exposure, was so much_ 
 gained. The Master of Greylands, when 
 applied to by his brother for a loan, had lis- 
 tened, and placed at the bank's disposal a 
 fairly good sum : not enough, not half enough, 
 for what it was wanted to stop, but still a 
 great help. 
 
 '' Even now," began Thomas Hill, breaking 
 the depressing silence, " even now, sir, if a 
 meeting were called, and a statement of facts
 
 l82 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 properly laid before the creditors, they might 
 consent to allow time." 
 
 ** Time !" echoed Mr. Peter Castlemaine. 
 " What, with this yelling crowd clamouring at 
 the doors ! — and with Fosbrook in the place ! 
 — and with a lien on all the forthcoming re- 
 mittances ! And," he added, the shrunken 
 grey look on his countenance becoming more 
 perceptible, as his voice dropped to a whisper 
 — " and with the discovery at hand of the use 
 I made of the Armannon bonds ! The last 
 closing hour has come, Thomas, and nothing 
 can save me I" 
 
 Thomas Hill took off his spectacles to wipe 
 the mist away. The failure of the bank, and 
 the disgrace attaching to these pecuniary 
 misfortunes, seemed as nothing, compared 
 with the guilty shame that must fall on his 
 master. 
 
 " They may prosecute me criminall)^" 
 breathed Mr. Peter Castlemaine, from be- 
 tween his dry and ashy lips. 
 
 " No, no," burst forth Thomas Hill. 
 " They'll never do that, sir. Think how 
 you have been respected ! And besides — 
 so far as I can understand the complication 
 — there will be money to pay everybody." 
 
 " Every man will be paid in full to the
 
 COM MO TJON A T STILBORO UGH. 1 85 
 
 Uttermost farthinir/' spoke the banker em- 
 phatically. But that's another thing. " I sat 
 up over my books nearly all last nii^ht, making- 
 my calculations, and I find that there will be 
 funds to meet all claims. Only there's the 
 waiting ! Not any over perhaps ; but there 
 will be so much as that." 
 
 " And to think that this miserable trouble 
 should intervene !" cried Thomas Hill, wring- 
 ing his hands. " There will be my six 
 thousand pounds to help you, sir, with the 
 expenses, and that." 
 
 Peter Castlemaine shook his head to the 
 last sentence, but he made no denial in words. 
 He seemed to have neither words nor spirit 
 left, and sat leaning his brow upon his hand. 
 The once fine fresh colour that was natural to 
 his cheeks had faded away, though its traces 
 might be seen still. One might have fancied 
 that a thin veil of grey had been flung over 
 the healthy bloom. In all his long experience 
 Thomas Hill had never, to his recollection, 
 seen a man change like this. 
 
 '* You look ill, sir," he said. " Let me get 
 you something to take." 
 
 " I feel ill," was the answer. " I ou^ht to 
 have confronted those people just now in the 
 other room, and should have done so, but that
 
 l84 THE MASTER OF GRE YLANDS. 
 
 I felt physically incapable. While I was 
 reading the letter, brought by the London 
 messenger, a sharp, curious pain seized me 
 here," touching his left side. " For some 
 minutes I could not move." 
 
 " Is the heart all right V hesitated the 
 clerk — as if he were afraid to breathe the 
 question. 
 
 " I do not know. During the past twelve 
 months, since these troubles set in, I have had 
 a good deal of fluttering there : pain, too, at 
 times." 
 
 " You should consult a doctor, sir. Don't, 
 pray, delay it." 
 
 "Ay," sighed the unfortunate man. "I sup- 
 pose I should. When I get a little out of 
 this fret and turmoil — -if I ever doget out of it — 
 I'll see one. Lock the desk for me, will you, 
 Hill ? There's nothing to keep it open for : 
 no use to pore over ledgers now." 
 
 He held out the key, sitting as he was, and 
 Thomas Hill locked the desk and returned 
 the key to him. Strength and health seemed 
 suddenly to have gone out of Peter Castle- 
 maine. 
 
 " I'll go and get you a little warm brandy 
 and water, sir. I'm sure you ought to 
 take it."
 
 COM MO TION A T STILBO ROUGH. \ 85 
 
 His master did not say Do, or Don't ; and 
 the clerk went for it. Getting it mixed by 
 Stephen — who looked frightened out of his 
 senses by the commotion in the street — he 
 carried in the glass of hot liquor, and the 
 banker sipped it. It seemed to do him a 
 little good ; he looked less entirely depressed. 
 
 " There's one thing I wanted to say, 
 Thomas," he began. " That young man who 
 came here last week — my brother Basil's son, 
 you know." 
 
 "Fve heard he is at Greylands, sir. Young 
 Anthony, they say." 
 
 " Ay. Basil named him after the father. 
 I should have done the same, had a son been 
 born to me. He came here that day, you 
 know, asking me to tell him the particulars of 
 how Greylands' Rest was left ; and I fear I 
 was a little short with him. I did not wish 
 to be, I'm sure ; but this^ — this trouble was 
 lying on me heavily. The young fellow 
 spoke fairly enough ; and, I dare say, I ap- 
 peared cross. He wanted me to interfere 
 between him and James ; which was a thing 
 I should not think of doing. I've thought 
 about it since, lying awake at night ; and I 
 want you to tell Anthony for me that I meant 
 nothing, should you ever see him."
 
 186 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 " But surely you will be seeing him for 
 yourself, sir !" cried the clerk, thinking this a 
 little strange. 
 
 " I don't know that I shall. Should James 
 show him that he has no claim, he may be 
 going off to France again : and as to me, 
 why, how do I know where I shall be, or 
 how things will go with me ? You'll tell him, 
 Thomas, that Greylands' Rest, so far as I 
 know, is legally my brother's ; if I thought 
 my father had given it to Basil, I should not 
 deem it right in James to hold it. But it's 
 not likely James would, were it not his." 
 
 " Did you not know, then, how the estate 
 was left ?" asked Thomas Hill, in surprise. 
 
 " No ; I did not trouble myself about it," was 
 the banker's answer : and all this while, he 
 seemed to be speaking as his faithful clerk had 
 never before heard him speak. Instead of the 
 shrewd, observant, intellectual man of business, 
 whose every sense was keenly awake, he 
 seemed weary and passive as a tired child. 
 " I knew Greylands' Rest would not be mine ; 
 that if it was not left to Basil it would be 
 James's. James stayed in possession of it, 
 and I supposed it was his i I took that for 
 granted, and did not question him. I believe 
 surely it is his : that my father left it to him :
 
 COM MO TION A T STILBORO UGH. 187 
 
 and, Thomas, you tell the young man, this 
 young Anthony, that it is my opinion. I don't 
 think there can be a doubt of it. James ought 
 to show him the vouchers for it : Basil's son 
 has a right to so much. Only, don'tsay //m/; 
 I do not want, I say, to interfere with James. 
 
 "It would be the easiest way of settling the 
 matter, sir, if Mr. Castlemaine would do that." 
 
 " Of course, it would. But then, you see, 
 James never chooses to be questioned : he 
 resents any attempt at it ; always did. As a 
 boy, I remember, nothing ever offended him 
 like doubting his word." 
 
 At that moment there was heard a rinq; at 
 the house door. The banker looked startled, 
 and then seemed to shrink within himself. 
 
 " It is that Fosbrook !" he exclaimed. " I 
 thought Iie'd be coming. I cannot see him. 
 You go, and battle it out with him, Thomas : 
 he won't browbeat jj/^z/. Go ! Don't let him 
 come in here for the world." 
 
 But it was not Mr. Fosbrook. It was only 
 one of the clerks, returning from his errand. 
 Thomas Hill, seeing the state of nervous de- 
 pression that his master was in, proposed to 
 proceed at once to the Turk's Head, and hold 
 there an interview with the dreaded creditor : 
 and the banker seized upon it eagerly.
 
 188 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 " Do, do !" he said. " There's no one I 
 dread as I dread him." 
 
 As the clerk went out, he saw that many 
 angry people lingered yet around the house 
 and doors. He went among them : he begged 
 them to be still for that evening, to leave mat- 
 ters in quiet until the morning, for that Mr. 
 Peter Castlemaine was very ill and quite un- 
 able to see any one. The baffled creditors 
 showered down questions on the unfortunate 
 clerk — who certainly felt the trouble as keenly 
 as did his master. Thomas Hill answered 
 them to the best of his ability : and at length 
 one by one the malcontents took their depar- 
 ture, leaving the street clear and the house 
 quiet. 
 
 And, no sooner was this accomplished, 
 than the banker's handsome barouche drove 
 to the door, containing Miss Castlemaine and 
 her chaperone, Mrs. Webb, who had returned 
 to her post the previous day. Opposite to 
 them sat the young lady's lover, William 
 Blake-Gordon. All were in the highest 
 spirits, talking and laughing as though no 
 such thing as care existed in the world, and 
 utterly unconscious of the trouble that had 
 fallen on the house and the commotion that 
 had reigned outside it. They had been to
 
 COM MO TION A T STILBOROUGH. 1 89 
 
 look over Raven's Priory, and Mary Ursula 
 was enchanted with it. 
 
 "You will stay to dinner, William," she 
 said, as he handed her out of the carriafre. 
 '' Papa will be vexed if you do not." 
 
 He was only too ready to accept an invita- 
 tion that would give him a few more hours of 
 her sweet companionship. It was close upon 
 the dinner-hour — six. Stephen was holding 
 the hall-door open, with a long, grave face : 
 they passed him, noticing nothing. 
 
 " I will not be long, William," she whis- 
 pered, running up to her chamber. 
 
 A few minutes later, and she came forth 
 again, attired for the evening. Her dress 
 was of rich blue silk ; her cheeks had more 
 colour in them than usual, the effect of 
 pleasurable excitement ; her bright hair was 
 disposed so as to set off the exceeding beauty 
 of her face. Mr. Blake-Gordon stood in the 
 gallery, looking at a new picture that some 
 friend had recently made a present of to the 
 banker. As she joined him, he drew her arm 
 within his. 
 
 " It is a fine painting, Mary." 
 
 " And it is hung well for night," she ob- 
 served, " for the rays of the chandelier just
 
 190 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 fall on it. By day its place is a little dark. 
 Have you seen papa yet ?" 
 
 " Not yet. There goes six o'clock." 
 
 Mrs. Webb, an elderly lady in black satin 
 and point lace cap, came down stairs and 
 turned into the drawing-room. Though a 
 very dragon of a chaperone when necessary, 
 she knew quite well when to join the lovers 
 and when to leave them alone. 
 
 They began pacing the gallery, arm in arm, 
 looking at this picture, criticising that. From 
 paintings, their conversation turned to what 
 just then held a deeper interest for them — • 
 the future residence they expected to so soon 
 enter upon. Raven's Priory. This room 
 should be the favourite morning room, and 
 that the favourite evening room ; and the 
 beautiful conservatory should have their best 
 care ; and there should always be a blazing 
 fire in the hall, not a cold, bare, comfortless 
 grate, as they had seen that day ; and the 
 gravel drive should be widened, and some 
 rocks and ferns put on the right hand in that 
 bare space — and so the dreams went on. 
 
 The clocks went on also. Mrs. Webb, re- 
 minded probably by her appetite, looked out 
 once or twice; the butler and Stephen, aware 
 that the dinner was waiting and the cook angrily
 
 COM MO TION A T STILBORO UGH. t 9 1 
 
 dcmanclinLr whether it was to be served to- 
 day or to-morrow, passed and repassed out of 
 the drawing-room. As to the lovers them- 
 selves, they were unconscious of clocks and 
 reminding appetites; for love, as we all know, 
 lives upon air. It was the custom of the 
 house not to serve the dinner until the banker 
 appeared in the drawing-room : on rare occa- 
 sions business detained him beyond the hour. 
 
 So they paced on, those two, in their dream 
 of happiness. And once, at the darkest end 
 of the gallery when there was neither step 
 nor sound near, Mr. Blake-Gordon stole a 
 kiss from that blushing face, so soon, as he 
 fondly hoped, to be all his. 
 
 "My dear, is your papa out, do you know?" 
 questioned Mrs. Webb, appearing at the 
 drawing-room door, as they again neared it. 
 " It is half-past six." 
 
 ** Half-past six !" repeated Mary, in sur- 
 prise. " So late as that ! No, I do not know 
 whether papa is out or in. Perhaps he is 
 busy in his parlour ? There's Stephen : he 
 may know. Stephen," she added, quitting 
 the arm of Mr. Blake-Gordon, and advancing 
 towards the man, " is papa below in his par- 
 lour ?" 
 
 " There's no one in the parlour, ma'am, for
 
 192 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 I've been to look," was the answer. " I saw 
 niy master go up to his chamber some time 
 ago, but I don't think he can be in it all this 
 while." 
 
 " How long ago ?" 
 
 " Just before you came home, ma'am." 
 
 " Oh, of course your master cannot be 
 there still," interposed Mrs. Webb, much in- 
 terested in the colloquy, for she wanted her 
 dinner frightfully. "He must have come 
 down and gone out, Stephen." 
 
 " Very likely, ma'am." 
 
 " I am sure that Mr. Castlemaine has not 
 come down stairs since we came in," observed 
 Mr. Blake-Gordon. " If he had, I must have 
 seen him. I have been here all the time." 
 
 Mary Ursula laughed. " I will tell you 
 what it is," she said : " papa has dropped 
 asleep on the sofa in his room. Twice lately 
 he has done it when he has had a very tiring 
 day." 
 
 She ran lightly up the stairs as she spoke, 
 and knocked at the chamber door. The 
 lamp that hung in the corridor threw its light 
 upon the oaken panels, and upon her gleam- 
 ing blue dress. 
 
 " Papa !" 
 
 There was no response, and Mary gently
 
 COMMOTION AT STILBOROUGH. 195 
 
 turned the handle, intending to open the 
 door about an inch, and call again. That 
 her father was lying on the sofa in a sound 
 sleep, she felt as sure of as though she had 
 seen him. But the door would not open. 
 
 " Papa ! papa !" 
 
 No : he did not awake, though she called 
 very loudly. Hardly knowing what to do, 
 she ran down stairs again. 
 
 " Papa must be in a very sound sleep, for 
 I cannot make him hear, and the door is 
 fastened inside," she said, chiefly addressing 
 Stephen, who was nearest to her. " I dare- 
 say he has had a fatiguing day." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, it have been fatiguing ; least- 
 ways the latter part of it," replied the man 
 with an emphasis that they failed to catch. 
 " Some rude people have been knocking 
 here, and making a fine uproar." 
 
 " Rude people knocking here !" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Webb, taking him up sharply. " What 
 do you mean ? What did they want ?" 
 
 " I don't know what they wanted, ma'am : 
 something they couldn't get, I suppose," re- 
 turned the man, who had no suspicion of the 
 real state of the case, for he believed the 
 house to be simply a mine of wealth that 
 could have no limit, just as children believe 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 in the wondrous riches told of in a fairy tale. 
 *' I know I should like to have had the 
 drivinor of 'em off! Master did well not to 
 
 o 
 
 see 'em." 
 
 " But — did papa not see them ?" ques- 
 tioned Mary Ursula, surprised into asking 
 the question by this extraordinary story. 
 
 "No, ma'am ; and that's what I fancy they 
 made the noise over. My master was not 
 well, either, this afternoon, for Mr. Hill came 
 running out for hot brandy and water for him." 
 
 What more would have been said, what 
 doubt created, was stopped by the appear- 
 ance of Thomas Hill. He had just returned 
 from his mission to the Turk's Head. Ap- 
 parently it had not been a pleasant mission : 
 for his face was pale with what looked like 
 fear, and he, waiving ceremony, had come 
 straight up the stairs, asking for his master. 
 
 " I must see him ; I must see him in- 
 stantly. I beg your pardon, dear Miss Cas- 
 tlemaine, but it is of the last importance." 
 
 Had Thomas Hill only waited a moment 
 before speaking, he would have heard that 
 the banker was fastened in his room. They 
 told him now. He gave one scared look 
 around while taking in the words, and then 
 bounded to the stairs.
 
 COMMOTION AT STILBOROl'GH. 195 
 
 " Follow me," he cried, turning his livid 
 face on the men. " We must burst open the 
 door. I know he is ill." 
 
 Mr. Blake-Gordon, the butler, and Stephen 
 were up almost as soon as he. Mrs. Webb 
 laid her detaining arm on the young lady. 
 
 " You must stay here, my dear : you must. 
 They will do better without you." 
 
 " But what can it be, save sleep ?" asked 
 Mary Ursula, arresting her steps and not 
 knowing whether there was cause for alarm 
 or not. " When papa is very tired he sleeps 
 heavily. On Sunday night he dropped 
 asleep when I was at the organ, and I could 
 not at first awaken him." 
 
 "Of course ; I make no doubt he has 
 fallen into a sound sleep ; nothing else : but 
 it will not be seemly for you to go up with 
 them, my dear," replied Mrs. Webb, always 
 the very essence of propriety. " Hark ! the 
 door has given way." 
 
 Sleep ? Yes, at first they did think the 
 banker was asleep. He lay on the sofa at 
 full length, his head on the low pillow, his 
 feet hanofine down over the other end. A 
 candle, which he must have carried up with 
 him, stood on the drawers, and the wax can- 
 dles in the dressing-glass had been previously 
 
 13-
 
 196 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 lighted by the servants. Altogether there 
 was a good deal of light. They looked at 
 the banker's face by it : and saw — that the 
 sleep was the sleep of death. 
 
 A gasping sob burst from Thomas Hill, 
 He fell on his knees, the tears rolling down 
 his face. 
 
 "My master! my dear master! oh, my 
 master, my master !" 
 
 He saw what it was ; perhaps felt some- 
 what prepared for it by the previous events- 
 of the afternoon. The others were for the 
 moment somewhat stunned : but they did 
 not think it could be death. 
 
 " Run for a doctor !" cried the butler to 
 Stephen. " He's in a faint. Run for your 
 life 1" 
 
 The butler himself did not attempt to run ; 
 he was too stout. Mr. Blake-Gordon and 
 Stephen, both slender and light of limb, sped 
 away without their hats. The butler raised 
 his master's head. 
 
 " Please to ring the bell, sir, for some 
 brandy," he said to Mr. Hill. " The maids 
 must bring up some hot flannels, too." 
 
 " Is it possible that you can be deceived ?" 
 sobbed the clerk — " that you do not see that 
 it is death ? Oh, my poor master !"
 
 COMMOTION AT STILBOROUGH. 197 
 
 ''Death ! come now, don't talk in that un- 
 'comfortable way," retorted the butler ; not, 
 however, feeling very comfortable as he said 
 it. " What should bring- death to the house 
 in this sudden way ? He is warm, too. Do 
 please ring the bell, sir." 
 
 The doctors came without delay, two of 
 them ; for Mr. Blake-Gordon brought one, 
 and Stephen another. But nothing could be 
 done : it was indeed death : and the medical 
 men thought it had taken place the best part 
 of an hour before. The great banker of 
 Stilborough, Peter Castlemaine, had ceased 
 to exist. 
 
 But there was one momentous, dreadful 
 question to be solved — what had caused the 
 death ? Had it come by God's hand and 
 will ? — or had Peter Castlemaine himself 
 wrought it ? The surgeons expressed no 
 opinion at present ; they talked in an under- 
 tone, but did not let the world share their 
 counsels. Thomas Hill overheard one word, 
 and it nearly sent him frantic. 
 
 " How dare you say it, gentlemen ? Sui- 
 cide ! Mr. Peter Castlemaine would no more 
 lift his hand against himself than you would 
 lift it. I would stake all the poor bit of life 
 I've crot left — which won't be much now — that
 
 198 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 it is his heart that has killed him. This very- 
 afternoon he complained of a sharp pain there ; 
 a strange fluttering, he called it, and he 
 looked white enough for a ghost. He told 
 me he had felt the same pain and fluttering at 
 times before. There cannot be a doubt, gen- 
 tlemen, that it was his heart." 
 
 The doctors nodded, seemingly in assent. 
 One thing appeared to be indisputable — that 
 if the death was natural, no other cause than 
 the heart could be assigned for it. The face 
 of the dead man was calm and unruflled as 
 that of an infant. But the elder of the doctors 
 whispered something about an " odour." 
 
 Mary Ursula came into the room when the 
 medical men had gone. No tears were in 
 her eyes ; she was as one stunned, paralyzed : 
 unable in her shock of bewilderment to take 
 in the whole truth. She had deemed the 
 room empty : but Thomas Hill turned round 
 from the sofa at her entrance. 
 
 " He has had a good deal of trouble lately, 
 my poor dear master, and it has been too 
 much for him, and broken his heart," he 
 whispered, in a piteous tone, the tears running 
 down his cheeks. "God knows I'd have 
 saved him from it if I could, my dear young 
 lady : I'd willingly have died for him."
 
 COMMOTION AT STILBOROUGH. 199 
 
 " What kind of trouble has it been ?" asked 
 Mary Ursula, letting the old man take her 
 hands, and eazine at him with a terrified and 
 imploring countenance. 
 
 " Money trouble, money trouble," answered 
 the clerk. " He was not used to it, and it has 
 broken his heart. Oh, my dear, don't grieve 
 more than you can help ! — and don't think 
 about the future, for all I have shall be 
 yours." 
 
 "You — think — it was heart disease?" 
 questioned Mary, in a dread, imploring 
 whisper. " Do you really think it, Mr. 
 Hill ?" 
 
 " My dear, I am sure of It. Quite sure. 
 And I only wonder now he did not die in my 
 arms this afternoon in the back parlour when 
 the pain and fluttering were upon him," 
 added Thomas Hill, half-choked with his 
 emotion. " There was a great clamour with 
 the creditors, and it terrified him more than I 
 thought. The fright must have struck to his 
 heart, and killed him." 
 
 She sighed deeply. The same appalled 
 look of terror clun^ to her face : the reassur- 
 ance did not seem to brino^ her the comfort 
 that it ought. For Mary Castlemaine had 
 overheard that one covert word of suspicion
 
 200 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 breathed by the medical men : and she had, 
 and always would have, the awful doubt lying 
 upon her heart. 
 
 It was a dreadful night for her, poor bank- 
 rupt girl — bankrupt in happiness from that 
 hour. Mrs. Webb persuaded her to go to 
 bed at last ; and there she lay, getting through 
 the hours as the unhappy do get through 
 them. But, miserable though it was, it would 
 have been far more so could she have seen, 
 as in a mirror, what had taken place that 
 night at Greylands in the Friar's Keep — the 
 disappearance of Anthony Castlemaine and 
 its cause.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A CURIOUS STORY. 
 
 BRIGHT and cheery morning with a 
 soft westerly breeze. The flowing 
 sea sparkled in the sunlight ; the 
 little boats danced upon its waves : 
 the birds on the land sung merry songs to 
 one another, cheated into a belief that spring 
 had come in. 
 
 There had been commotion in the streets 
 of Stilborough on the previous day, and 
 especially around the banker's door, as we 
 have already seen ; but that commotion was 
 open and above board, as compared with the 
 stir that was this morning agitating Greylands. 
 For, report was running wildly about, that 
 some mysterious and unaccountable disaster 
 had happened to Anthony Castlemaine. 
 Anthony Castlemaine had disappeared.
 
 202 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 There was no other word, save that, appli- 
 cable to the event : he had disappeared. And 
 as Greylands had taken a warm fancy to the 
 young man, it rose up in great agitation. 
 Almost with morning light the village was 
 being searched for him and inquiry made. 
 People turned out of their cottages, fishermen 
 left their boats, some of the Grey Sisters even 
 came forth from the Nunnery : all eagerly 
 asking what, and how much, was true. 
 
 The originator of the rumour Avas John 
 Bent. He did not seem to know a great deal 
 more than other people ; but nobody, save 
 him, knew anything at all. The Dolphin Inn 
 was besieged ; work was at a standstill ; Mrs. 
 Bent allowed even her servant, Molly, to 
 stand listening, with her arms akimbo, un- 
 reproved. 
 
 The story told by John Bent was a curious 
 one. And, it should be intimated, that, but 
 for the fears stirring within the landlord's own 
 breast, the disappearance would not have 
 been thought so much of at this early stage. 
 But John Bent had caught up the fear that 
 some fatal harm had chanced to the young 
 man : in fact, that he had been — murdered ! 
 The landlord could not account for this strong 
 impression ; he acknowledged that : but it
 
 A CURIOUS STORY. 203 
 
 was there, and he freely spoke It out. 
 The substance of the tale he told was as 
 follows. 
 
 After Anthony Castlemaine had darted 
 across the road and through the gate in the 
 wake of his uncle the Master of Greylands, 
 as previously related, John Bent stood still, 
 watching for a minute or two, but could not 
 see or hear anything of either of them. He 
 then, finding the night air somewhat cold, 
 stamped up and down the path, not losing 
 sight of the opposite gate and waiting for 
 Anthony to come out of it. Close upon this 
 there rang out the report of a pistol. It was 
 accompanied, almost simultaneously, by an 
 awful cry ; the cry of a man in agony. John 
 Bent wondered where the pistol came from 
 and what It meant, but he never thought to 
 connect either cry or pistol with Anthony 
 Castlemaine. The time passed : John Bent 
 began to find this waiting wearisome ; he 
 thoucjht what a lono- confab his oruest was en- 
 joying with Mr. Castlemaine, and hoped they 
 were settling matters amicably : and he won- 
 dered somewhat at their remaining in that 
 dark, ghostly Keep, Instead of choosing the 
 open moonlight. By-and-by, a sailor stag- 
 gered past — for he had been taking more
 
 204 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 grog than was good for him — towards his 
 home in the village. He was smoking ; and 
 John Bent took his own pipe from his pocket, 
 filled it, and lighted it by the sailor's. The 
 pipe consoled John Bent, and the minutes 
 passed somewhat less tediously : but when 
 one o'clock rang out, and there were no signs 
 of the young man, he began to think it very 
 strange. " Surely they'd not stay all this while 
 in that haunted Friar's Keep! — and not a place 
 to sit down on, and nothing but cold pillared 
 cloisters to walk or stand in, and them dark !" 
 cried John to himself — and he deliberated 
 what he should do. The prospect of march- 
 ing into the Friar's Keep in search of his 
 guest was not altogether congenial to his 
 taste, for John Bent did not like the chance 
 of meeting ghosts more than Greylands did : 
 neither did he care to proceed home himself 
 and leave Anthony Castlemaine to follow at 
 leisure. Another quarter of an hour elapsed ; 
 and then, finding there was no help for it, and 
 quite tired out, he put on a bold spirit, and 
 crossed over to enter the gate. But the gate 
 was locked. 
 
 The gate was locked. And, had John 
 Bent seen the whole row of high, substantial 
 palings suddenly lifted into the air, or thrown
 
 A CC'RIOUS STORY. 205 
 
 down to the earth, he would not have stood 
 more transfixed with astonishment. 
 
 For that irate had never been known to be 
 locked within his remembrance. There cer- 
 tainly was a lock to it, but it had always 
 lacked a key. The latch was good, and that 
 was all the fastening used, or needed. John 
 Bent stood with open mouth, gasping out his 
 surprise to the air. 
 
 " What on earth does this mean ?" 
 
 He shook the gate. At least, he would 
 have shaken it, had it been less substantially 
 firm : but it scarcely moved under his hand. 
 And then he set on and shouted at the top of 
 his voice, hoping his guest would hear. 
 
 " Mr. Anthony Castlemaine ! Shall you 
 be much longer, Mr. Anthony Castlemaine ?" 
 
 The lioht breeze took his voice over the 
 chapel ruins and carried its echoes out to 
 sea ; but there came back no answer of any 
 kind. 
 
 " Well, this is a rum go," cried John, look- 
 ing up, and down, and round about, in his 
 bewilderment. " Surely Mr. Anthony can't 
 have come out and orone home !" he added, 
 the unlikely notion Hashing on him ; for, 
 when thoroughly puzzled we are all apt to 
 catch at straws of improbability. " He
 
 2o6 THE MASTER OF GREVLANDS. 
 
 cotildnt have come out without my seeing 
 him, and me never beyond view of the gate : 
 unless it was in the minute that I was light- 
 ing my pipe by Jack Tuff's, when I had my 
 back turned. But yet — how was it Mr. An- 
 thony did not see me ?" 
 
 Unable to solve these doubts, but still 
 thinking that was how it must have been, the 
 landlord went home with a rapid step. Be- 
 fore he gained it, he had quite made his mind 
 up that it was so ; he fully believed his guest 
 was by this time sound asleep in his bed, and 
 called himself a donkey for waiting out all 
 that while. John Bent put his hand on the 
 handle of his door to enter softly, and found 
 it fastened. Fastened just as firmly as the 
 gate had been. 
 
 " Where's Ned, I wonder ?" he cried aloud, 
 alluding to his man ; and he knocked with 
 his hand pretty sharply. 
 
 There was no more response to this knock 
 than there had been to the shouts he had 
 been lately sending forth. He knocked 
 again, and shook the door. The moonbeams 
 still played upon the sea ; a white sail or two 
 of the night fishing boats gleamed out ; he 
 put his back against the door and gazed on 
 the scene while he waited. No good, as he
 
 A CURIOUS STORY. 207 
 
 knew, to go round to the front entrance ; that 
 was sure to be closed. John knocked the 
 third time. 
 
 The window above his head was flung 
 open at this juncture, and Mrs. Bent's night- 
 capped head came out. 
 
 " Oh, it's you, is it !" she tartly cried. " I 
 thought, for my part, you had taken up your 
 abode in the road for the niorht." 
 
 " Ned's sitting up, I suppose, Dorothy. 
 Why does he not open the door ?" 
 
 " Ned will not open the door till he has my 
 orders. There ! A pretty decent thing, this 
 is, for a respectable householder of your age 
 to come home between one and two in the 
 morning ! If you are so fond of prancing up 
 and down the road in the moonlight, filling a 
 fresh pipe at every trick and turn, why don't 
 you stay there till the house is opened to- 
 morrow .-*" 
 
 " Jack Tuff must have told you that !" 
 
 " Yes, Jack Tuff did tell it me," retorted 
 Mrs. Bent. " I stayed at the door looking 
 for you till half-after twelve. x-\nda tidy state 
 kc was in !" added the good lady in additional 
 wrath. " His nose touching the ground, 
 a'most, every step he took !" 
 
 " Just let me come in, Dorothy. I've
 
 2o8 THE MASTER OF GRE YLANDS. 
 
 not stayed out all this while for pleasure — as 
 you may be sure." 
 
 " You've stayed for aggravation perhaps ; 
 to keep people up. Where's Mr. Anthony 
 Castlemaine ?" 
 
 " He's come home, isn't he ?" 
 
 " I dare say you know very well whether 
 he is or not ?" returned Mrs. Bent from her 
 window. 
 
 " But, Dorothy, woman, it is for him I've 
 been waiting. He went into the Friar's 
 Keep, and he's never come out again — unless 
 he came when I did not see him." 
 
 " The Friar's Keep !" repeated the land- 
 lady, in the most mocking tone she could use. 
 " What excuse will you invent next ?" 
 
 " It's no excuse : it's true. We saw Mr. 
 Castlemaine go in there, and Mr. Anthony 
 ran over and followed him, saying he'd have 
 out the quarrel under the moonlight. And I 
 stood cooling my heels outside, waiting for 
 him all that while ; till at last I began to think 
 he must have come out and passed me un- 
 seen. He has come home, has he not ?" 
 
 " He is not come home," said Mrs. Bent. 
 
 " Well, let the door be opened." 
 
 As the story sounded a mysterious one, 
 and Mrs. Bent had her curiosity, and as her
 
 A CURIOUS STORY. 209 
 
 husband moreover was a staid man, not at all 
 given to this kind of offence in general, she 
 allowed him to come in, herself opening the 
 door. He gave her a summary of the story, 
 she wrapped in a warm shawl while she stood 
 to listen to it and to make her comments. 
 Anthony Castlemaine had not come home ; 
 she had seen nothing at all of him ; or of 
 anybody else, tipsy Jack Tuff excepted. 
 
 A kind of scared feeling, a presentiment of 
 evil, crept over John Bent. For the first 
 time, he began to wonder whether the pistol- 
 shot he had heard had struck the young man, 
 whether the agonised cry was his. He went 
 into Anthony's bedroom, and saw with his 
 own eyes that it was empty. It was not that 
 he questioned his wife's word ; but he felt 
 confused and doubtful altogether — as thouiih 
 it were not possible that Anthony could be 
 absent in this unaccountable manner. 
 
 " I must go back and look for him, Do- 
 rothy woman." 
 
 " Youll take the key with you, then," said 
 Mrs. Bent ; who, for a wonder, did not oppose 
 the proposition : in fact, she thought it right 
 that he should go. And, back went John Bent 
 to the Friar's Keep. 
 
 He did not at all like this solitary walking, 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 2IO THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 lovely though the night was ; he would rather 
 have been asleep in bed. The Grey Nunnery 
 lay steeped in silence and gloom ; not a single 
 light shone from any of its windows ; a sure 
 sign that just now there could be no sick in- 
 mates there. John Bent reached the gate 
 again, and the first thing he did was to try it. 
 
 It yielded instantly. It opened at his touch. 
 And the man stood not much less amazed 
 than he had before been to find it fastened. 
 At that moment the sound of approaching 
 footsteps in the road struck on his ear ; he 
 turned swiftly, his heart beating with eager 
 hope : for he thought they might prove to 
 be the steps of Anthony Castlemaine. 
 
 Bnt they were those of Mr. Nettleby. The 
 officer was returning from his mission of night 
 supervision, whatever it might especially be. 
 John Bent met him, and told his tale. 
 
 " Nonsense !" cried the superintendent, 
 after he had listened. " They would not be 
 likely to stay in those deserted cloisters of 
 the Friar's Keep. Are you sure it was Mr. 
 Castlemaine you saw go in ?" 
 
 " Ouite sure. But I can't think what he 
 could want there." 
 
 " You don't think you were dreaming ?" 
 asked Mr. Nettleby, who, by this time, evi-
 
 A CURIOUS STORY. 211 
 
 dently fancied the tale was altogether more 
 like a dream than a reality, "/don't believe 
 the gate has a key, or that it ever had one." 
 
 He was examining the gate as he spoke. 
 The lock was there as usual ; but of any sign 
 that a key had been in it that night there was 
 none. Crossing the ruins, they stood look- 
 ing out over the sea ; at the line of glittering 
 moonlight, at the distant boats catching their 
 fish. From that they went into the Friar's 
 Keep. Its moss-eaten Gothic door lay open 
 to the chapel ruins. Pillars of stone supported 
 the floor — the floor which the spirit of the 
 dead-and-gone Grey Friar was supposed to 
 haunt. It was rather a ghostly-looking place 
 altogether ; the intersecting pillars and the 
 arches above, and some open arches facing 
 the sea, where a little light streamed through. 
 They could not see the sea from this place, for 
 the outer wall was nearly as high as they were ; 
 but not so high as the arches, and the light 
 and the salt fresh smell of the sea came waft- 
 ing in. There they stood on the stone floor 
 of those cloisters — as people had fallen into the 
 way of calling them — and shouted out the 
 name of Anthony Castlemaine. Neither 
 sight nor sound came back in answer : all 
 was quiet and lonely as the grave ; there was 
 
 14—2
 
 212 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 not the slightest sign that any one had been, 
 there. 
 
 " If they did come in here, as you say," 
 observed Mr. Nettleby, with that same ring 
 of disbehef in his voice, " I'll tell you what it 
 is, Bent. They must have come out again at 
 once, and gone home together to Greylands' 
 Rest." 
 
 This view of the case had not presented 
 itself to the mind of John Bent. He revolved 
 it for an instant, and then saw that it was the 
 most feasible solution of the problem. But 
 he did not feel quite satisfied ; for it was diffi- 
 cult to fancy Anthony Castlemaine would so 
 go off without telling him. Still he accepted 
 it ; and he and the officer quitted the Keep, 
 and turned their steps homeward. In his 
 own mind the superintendent fully believed 
 John Bent had been asleep and dreaming; it 
 was so impossible to fancy any sane man pro- 
 menading in the chapel ruins or the Keep at 
 night. And the Master of Greylands, of all 
 people ! 
 
 " Did you get upon the trail of any smug- 
 glers at Beeton ?" asked John Bent. 
 
 "No," said Mr. Nettleby, rather savagely, 
 for he had had his night's work for nothing. 
 " Couldn't see any traces of them. I do sus-
 
 A CURIOUS STORY. 213 
 
 pect that Beeton, though. I beheve it con- 
 tains a nest of the lawless wretches !" 
 
 He turned in at his own gate as he spoke. 
 The landlord went on, and was speedily at 
 home again. Anthony Castlemaine had not 
 come in. 
 
 Before eight o'clock in the morning, John 
 Bent, feeling doubtful and uneasy, went up to 
 Greylands' Rest. He noticed that all the 
 blinds were down, and some of the shutters 
 closed. Miles, the servant man, was outside 
 the back-entrance door, shaking mats. 
 
 " I thought none of you could be up yet," 
 began the landlord, " with all the blinds 
 down ! I'm sure the house looks as though 
 somebody had died in it." 
 
 " And somebody has died, more's the pity ; 
 though not in the house," replied Miles, 
 turning his face, full of grave concern, on the 
 speaker. " A messenger was here soon after 
 six this morning to fetch the master to Stil- 
 borouorh. Mr. Peter Castlemaine died sud- 
 denly last night." 
 
 The landlord was shocked. He could 
 hardly believe it. " Mr. Peter Castlemaine 
 dead !" he exclaimed. " It can't be true, 
 JNIile-s." 
 
 " It's too true," returned Miles.
 
 214 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 " But he was so strong and healthy ! He 
 had not a trace of illness about him !" 
 
 " Ay. But they say it was the heart." 
 
 " Well, it's sad news any way, and Fm sorry 
 for him," said John Bent. " Is young Mr.. 
 Castlemaine here ?" 
 
 " Not just now. He'll be home some time 
 this afternoon. He went off to Newerton 
 yesterday on business." 
 
 '* I don't mean him — Mr. Harry. I mean 
 Mr. Anthony Castlemaine." 
 
 " What should bring that young man here ?" 
 loftily retorted Miles, who made a point of 
 sharing in all the prejudices of his master. 
 
 John Bent told his tale. It was listened to 
 with disbelieving and resentful ears. 
 
 " My master in at that there blessed scared 
 place, the Friar's Keep, at twelve o'clock at 
 night ! Well, I wonder what next you'll say, 
 Mr. Bent ?" 
 
 " But I saw him go in," returned John 
 Bent. 
 
 " It couldn't have been him. It's not 
 likely. What should he want there ? When 
 us servants went to bed at ten, the master 
 was in the red parlour. As to that other 
 young man you speak of, that he has not been 
 anio-h the house / can answer for."
 
 A CURIOUS STOR V. 215 
 
 John Bent felt as if he were in the midst of 
 a foe, throuoh which no lio^ht could be seen. 
 " You say Mr. Castlemaine is at Stilborough, 
 Miles ?" 
 
 " He went off there soon after six o'clock. 
 And wasn't he cut up when he heard the 
 news about his brother !" added Miles. " His 
 lips and face had no more red in them than 
 ihat — pointing to a snow-drop under the wall. 
 "He looked just like a man who has got a 
 shock." 
 
 It was of no use for John Bent to linger. 
 Anthony Castlemaine was not to be heard of 
 at Greylands' Rest. He took his departure ; 
 and, in the absence of any other clue to follow, 
 went making inquiries in the village. Before 
 long, not a single inhabitant, from one end of 
 it to the other, but had heard and was making 
 comments on his tale. 
 
 The Dolphin Inn was a crowded place that 
 day, and its landlord the centre of attraction. 
 People were in and out incessantly, listening 
 to the singular history. Numbers flocked to 
 the Friar's Keep, and to every other spot in 
 Greylands likely or unlikely for a man to be 
 hidden in, dead or living ; but there was no 
 trace anywhere of the presence of Anthony 
 Castlemaine. Setting aside the disappear-
 
 2i6 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 ance, the tale itself excited wonder ; and that 
 part of it relating to the entrance into the 
 chapel ruins of Mr, Castlemaine, and the sub- 
 sequent sound of a shot and cry, and of the 
 locked gate, was received by some with in- 
 credulity. Opinions were hazarded that the 
 landlord's eyes might have deceived him ; his 
 ears and his fingers played him false ; that Mr. 
 Castlemaine must have been altogether a 
 myth ; the supposed locked gate been only 
 his awkwardness, and the shot and cry 
 nothinor but the scream of a sea bird. In this 
 one latter point, however, John Bent's account 
 was established by other testimony, coming, 
 singular to say, from the Grey Ladies. It 
 appeared that Sister Mildred was very ill that 
 night, and two of the others sat up with her, 
 Sisters Mona and Ann. The room of the 
 Superioress faced the sea, and was the last 
 room at the end next the chapel ruins. As 
 the Sisters sat there, watching in the stillness of 
 the night, they were suddenly startled by the 
 sound of a shot, and by a scream as from 
 some one wounded. So, in regard to the 
 truth of this part of John Bent's account, there 
 could no longer be a doubt. 
 
 In the afternoon Mr. Castlemaine returned 
 from Stilborough. The commotion Grey-
 
 A CURIOUS STORY. 217 
 
 lands was in rendered it impossible for him 
 to remain lonor io-norant of what had taken 
 place, and of the manner in which his name 
 was mixed up with it. Being a man of quick 
 perception, of penetrating judgment, he could 
 not fail to see that some suspicion must attach 
 to himself in the public mind ; that the alleged 
 story, taken in conjunction with previous facts : 
 the pretensions of his nephew to Greylands' 
 Rest, and their hostile meeting in the fields 
 earlier in the day : must inevitably excite 
 doubt and comment. Proud, haughty, and 
 self-contained though the Master of Greylands 
 was, this matter was of too grave a nature, 
 and might bring too many unpleasant conse- 
 quences in its train, for him to ignore it. He 
 deemed it well to throw himself forthwith 
 into the battle ; and he went out to the Dol- 
 phin. On his way he encountered Commo- 
 dore Teague. The latter had been at sea 
 since early morning in his cutter — as he was 
 apt to call that sailing boat of his — and had 
 but now, on landing, had his ears assailed with 
 the story. A few exchanged sentences be- 
 tween Mr, Castlemaine and the Commodore, 
 and they parted ; Mr. Castlemaine proceeding 
 to the inn. 
 
 " What is this absurd story ?" he demanded
 
 2i8 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 of John Bent, lifting his hat as he entered the 
 best kitchen to the knot of people assembled 
 there. " I cannot make head or tail of it." 
 
 For the fiftieth time at least, the landlord 
 recounted the history. It was listened to with 
 breathless interest, even by those who had 
 done nothing but listen to it for many pre- 
 vious hours. 
 
 " And do you expect sensible people to be- 
 lieve this, John Bent ?" were the first answer- 
 ing words of the Master of Greylands. 
 
 " It's true, whether they believe it or not," 
 said John. " It was yourself, sir, was it not, 
 that we saw pass through the gate into the 
 chapel ruins ?" 
 
 "/.''" scornfully repeated Mr. Castlemaine. 
 " What do you suppose should take me to 
 such a place, as that, at midnight ? If all your 
 points are as correct as that, Mr. Bent, your 
 story will not hold much water." 
 
 " I said it was not likely to be Mr. Castle- 
 maine," spoke up the superintendent of the 
 coast-guard. " I told Mr. Bent so at the time." 
 
 " I put it to you all, generally, whether it 
 ze/^i- likely," pursued Mr. Castlemaine, glancing 
 defiantly about him. 
 
 " All I can say is this," said John Bent : 
 " that if it was not Mr. Castlemaine, my eyes
 
 A CURIOUS STORY. 219 
 
 must have strangely deceived me, and young 
 IVIr. Anthony's must have deceived him. 
 Why the night was as Hght as day !" 
 
 " Eyes do deceive sometimes," remarked 
 Mr. Castlemaine. " I know that mine have on 
 occasion deceived me at niofht, good thouQ-h 
 their sight is. And of all deceptive lights, 
 the moon's light is the worst." 
 
 " Sir, if it was not you it must have been 
 your wraith," said John Bent, evidently not 
 inclined to give in. " You passed close by 
 us sideways, coming out of the Chapel Lane, 
 and crossed the road in front of us. Had 
 you just turned your head sharp to the right, 
 you must have seen us under the hedge." 
 
 " Was it the Grey Friar, think you ?" asked 
 Mr. Castlemaine. And John Bent did not 
 like the bantering tone, or the suppressed 
 laugh that went around. 
 
 " That some one crossed from the Chapel 
 Lane may be true : for I do not see how you 
 could purely imagine it," conceded Mr. Castle- 
 maine, after a pause. " But it was not L 
 Neither can I understand or conceive what 
 anybody should want in the chapel ruins at 
 that time of night. We are most of us rather 
 given to shun tJie place." 
 
 " True, true," murmured the room.
 
 220 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 " And the locked gate," proceeded Mr. 
 Castlemaine, " how do you account for that ? 
 Where did the key come from to lock it ? 
 According to what you say, John Bent, it would 
 appear that Mr. Anthony Castlemaine must 
 have locked it ; since you maintain that no 
 one went in or came out subsequent to him- 
 self. If he locked it, he must have unlocked 
 it. At least, that is the inference naturally to 
 be drawn." 
 
 " I say that the gate never was locked," put 
 in Superintendent Nettleby. " The latch 
 mio^ht have caug-ht at the minute, and caused 
 Mr. Bent to fancy it was locked." 
 
 " You may as well tell me I don't know 
 when a place is open and when it's shut," 
 retorted John Bent. 
 
 " And the pistol again ! — or gun ?" remon- 
 strated Mr. Castlemaine. "It does not stand 
 to reason that people should be firing off guns 
 and pistols at midnight. I fancy that must 
 be altogether a mistake " 
 
 " The Grey Ladies can speak to that much, 
 sir," interrupted Mrs. Bent. "As Sister Ann, 
 here, can tell you." 
 
 Mr. Castlemaine turned on his heel and 
 brought his eyes to bear on Sister Ann. She 
 was sitting in the corner near the clock, her
 
 A CURIOUS STORY. 22t 
 
 basket as usual in her hand. For she had 
 come out to do errands, and been seduced by 
 curiosity into the Dolphin, to take her share 
 in the gossip. 
 
 " Yes, sir, we heard the pistol, or gun, 
 whichever it was, and the human cry that 
 came with it," she said to Mr. Castlemaine. 
 " Sister Mona and I were watching in Sister 
 Mildred's room — for the fever was very bad 
 upon her last night and she was restless and 
 wandering, poor lady ! It was all quite still. 
 I was knitting and Sister Mona was reading ; 
 you might have heard a pin drop indoors or 
 out ; when there burst upon our ears a loud 
 shot, followed by a human cry. A thrilling 
 scream, it was, making me and Sister Mona 
 start up in terror." 
 
 "It was like a death-scream," said John 
 Bent. "And I cannot," he added, looking at 
 Mr. Castlemaine, " get it out of my head, that 
 it was his scream — young Mr. Anthony's." 
 
 " From what direction did it come .^" asked 
 Mr. Castlemaine of the landlord. 
 
 *' I can't tell, sir. I was walking about on 
 the opposite side of the road, and at first I 
 thought it came from seaward ; but it sounded 
 very near." 
 
 " It sounded to us as thouo^h it came from
 
 222 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 the chapel ruins, or from the strip of beach 
 below it," said Sister Ann. "We did not 
 hear anything more." 
 
 " And I did not think at the time to con- 
 nect that shot and scream with Mr. Anthony 
 Castlemaine," pursued John Bent. " It never 
 came anigh my mind to do it, never. I do 
 now." 
 
 " Well, it is altogether a most extraordinary 
 and unaccountable affair," remarked Mr. 
 Castlemaine. " Strange to say, I was abroad 
 last night myself and near the spot, but not as 
 late as you describe this to have been. Be- 
 tween ten and eleven I went down the lane 
 as far as the Hutt. Teague was, I had heard, 
 purposing to go out in his boat for a few hours 
 to-day ; and I, not having been very well 
 lately, thought I should like to go with him, 
 and went down to say so. I stayed and had 
 a pipe with him, and I think it must have 
 been half-past eleven when I left." 
 
 " And did you go straight home from the 
 Hutt, sir ?" asked John Bent, eagerly. 
 
 " I went straight home from the Hutt's 
 door to my door," emphatically replied Mr. 
 Castlemaine. 
 
 " And did not go anigh the other end of 
 the lane at all ? — nor the Friar's Keep ?"
 
 A CURIOUS STORY. 223 
 
 " Certainly not. I tell you I went straight 
 home. I went direct from Teagne's house 
 to mine." 
 
 That J\Ir. Castlemaine was candid in stat- 
 ing this matter spontaneously, when he might 
 have concealed it, his hearers mentally saw, 
 and it told in his favour. But it did not lessen 
 the perplexity, or the mist that the affair was 
 shrouded in. He turned to depart. 
 
 " I shall at once institute a thorough search ; 
 and, if necessary, summon the law to my aid," 
 said he. " Not that I fear any real harm has 
 befallen my nephew Anthony ; but it will be 
 satisfactory to ascertain where he is. I fancy 
 he must have gone off somewhere, perhaps 
 on some sudden and uncontemplated impulse. 
 It may be, that he is given to take these 
 impromptu flights ; as was his father before 
 him, my brother Basil." 
 
 Mr. Castlemaine passed out as he spoke, 
 Y/ith a bend of the head to the company. He 
 was looking pale and ill ; they could but 
 notice it throughout the entire interview ; and 
 his face had a Avorn, sad cast of sorrow on it, 
 never before seen there. 
 
 "He has brought that look back from Stil- 
 borough," remarked John Bent. " There are 
 bad fears, it's whispered, about his brother's
 
 224 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 death : we have not got the particulars yet. 
 But as to Mr, Anthony's having- walked off 
 in any promiscuous manner, it's the silliest 
 thought that ever was spoken." 
 
 Commodore Teague in his blue sailor's 
 costume came looming in, his hands in his 
 pockets. He had made haste down from the 
 Hutt (having been obliged to go there on 
 landing to carry his gun and sundry other 
 articles from his boat, and to light his fires) to 
 hear the details of the mysterious story: or, as 
 he chose to express it, the wrongs and the 
 rights on't. 
 
 So John Bent once more recounted the 
 particulars, assisted by the tongues of all the 
 company — for they did not stand in awe of 
 this listener as they did of Mr. Castlemaine. 
 The Commodore listened with incredulity : 
 not to say ridicule. 
 
 " Look here, John Bent, you may tell that 
 tale to the marines. I can explain away some 
 of it myself Bless my heart ! to think you 
 folk should be running your head again all 
 them marvels when there's none to run 'em 
 against. That gun that went off was mine," 
 concluded the Commodore ; who liked to put 
 on a free-and-easy grammar when in familiar 
 intercourse with Greyland's, though he could
 
 A CURIOUS STORY. 225 
 
 be a gentleman when with such people as the 
 Castlemaines. 
 
 " Your gun !" 
 
 " It was. And as to Mr. Castlemaine, you 
 no more saw him go into the Friar's Keep 
 than you saw me go. Last night, I was 
 smoking my pipe and cleaning my gun— for 
 I meant to shoot a few birds out at sea to- 
 day — when who should come knocking at the 
 Hutt door but Mr. Castlemaine. He'd been 
 feeling out of sorts, he said, and thought a 
 sail would do him good, and would like to go 
 with me to-day — for it seems the whole parish 
 had heard I was going. With all my heart, 
 I answered ; I'd be proud of his company. 
 He sat down and took a pipe ; smoking's 
 contagious you know : and we talked about 
 this and that. When he left I saw him to 
 the door, and watched him turn up the lane 
 towards his house. It don't stand to reason 
 he'd come down again." 
 
 " He told us all this himself. Commodore." 
 
 " Did he ! — what, Mr. Castlemaine ? Well, 
 it's true. After he was gone, I got to my gun 
 again, which I had laid aside when he entered. 
 It struck twelve before I finished it. After 
 that, I loaded it, took it to the door, and fired 
 
 VOL. I. 1 s
 
 226 THE MASTER OF CREYLANDS. 
 
 it off into the air. That was the shot you 
 heard, landlord." 
 
 " And the cry ?" 
 
 " Never was any cry to hear. 'Twas fancy. 
 I made none, and I know I heard none." 
 
 " What time was it when your gun went 
 off?" 
 
 " Past twelve ; I don't rightly know how 
 much. I went to bed and to sleep without 
 looking at the clock. This morning word 
 was brought me that Mr. Castlemaine had 
 been fetched to Stilborough ; and I took out 
 Ben Little in the boat instead." 
 
 But this explanation did not go for so much 
 as it miofht have done. The Commodore 
 was in the habit of telling the most incredible 
 sea yarns ; and faith, in that respect, was 
 wanting in him. Moreover, the strong im- 
 pression on John Bent's mind was, that it was 
 a pistol-shot he had heard, not a gun. Above 
 all, there remained the one broad fact of the 
 disappearance : Anthony Castlemaine had 
 been alive and well and amidst them the pre- 
 vious night, and to-day he was not. Alto- 
 gether the commotion, the dread, and the 
 sense of some mysterious evil increased : and 
 lying upon many a heart, more or less, was a
 
 A CURIOUS STORY. 227 
 
 suspicion of the part played in it by Mr. 
 Castlemaine. 
 
 Dusk was approaching when a horseman 
 rode past the Dolphin : Mr. Harry Castle- 
 maine on his return from Newerton. Seeinor 
 what looked like an unusual bustle round the 
 inn doors, he pulled up, Molly ran out. 
 
 " What's agate ?" asked Mr. Harry. " You 
 seem to have got all the world and his wife 
 here." 
 
 " It's feared as it's murder, sir," returned 
 simple Molly. 
 
 '' Murder r 
 
 " Well sir, Mr. Anthony Castlemaine went 
 into the Friar's Keep last night, and have 
 never come out asj-ain. It's thouofht he was 
 shot there. A dreadful cry was heard." 
 
 " Shot ! Who shot him ?" 
 
 " 'Tain't known, sir. Some says it was 
 Mr. Castlemaine that was in there along of 
 him." 
 
 Harry Castlemaine drew up his haughty 
 head ; a dark frown knitted his brow. But 
 that she was a woman, ignorant and stupid, 
 and evidently unconscious of all the words 
 might imply, he might have struck her as she 
 stood. 
 
 " And there's dreadful news in from Stil- 
 
 15—^
 
 228 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 borough, Mr. Harry, sir," resumed the girl. 
 " Mr. Peter Castlemalne was found dead in 
 his chamber last night." 
 
 " What ?" shouted Harry, thinking she 
 must be playing upon him with all these hor- 
 rors. 
 
 " It's true, sir. The Master of Greylands 
 have not long got back from seeing him. He 
 died quite sudden, poor gentleman, shut up 
 in his room, and not a soul anigh him to 
 watch his last breath." 
 
 It was almost too much. His uncle dead, 
 his cousin disappeared, his father suspected 
 he knew not yet of what. Never a more 
 cruel moment, than that, had dawned for 
 Harry Castlemaine.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 JUST AS SHE HAD SEEN IT IN HER DREAM. 
 
 VILS do not always come alone. It 
 sometimes happens that before one 
 astounding ill is barely glanced at, 
 another has fallen. This was the 
 case at Stilborough. 
 
 The town awoke one morning to find that 
 the bank had stopped payment, and that the 
 banker was dead. Never before in the 
 memory of man had the like consternation 
 been known. It can be better imagined than 
 written. At once the worst was anticipated. 
 No one had ever been so confided in as was 
 Mr. Peter Castlemaine. His capacity for 
 business, his honour and integrity, his im- 
 mense wealth, had passed into a proverb. 
 People not only trusted him, but forced upon 
 him that trust. Many and many a man had 
 placed in his hands all they possessed : the
 
 230 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 savings perhaps of half a Hfetime ; and now 
 they saw themselves ruined and undone. 
 
 Never had the like excitement been known 
 in the quiet town ; never so much talking and 
 gesticulating ; metaphorically speaking, so 
 much sighing and sobbing. And indeed it is 
 to be doubted if this last was all metaphor, 
 Thomas Hill had never been so sought after; 
 so questioned and worried ; so raved at and 
 abused as now. All he could implore of 
 them was to have a little patience until ac- 
 counts could be gone into. Things might 
 not, he represented, turn out as badly as 
 people supposed. Nobody listened to him ; 
 and he felt that if all days were to be as this 
 day, he should soon follow his master to the 
 grave. Indeed, it seemed to him now, in the 
 shock of this dreadful blow — his master's 
 ruin and his master's untimely end — that his 
 own existence henceforth would be little bet- 
 ter than a death in life. 
 
 In the very midst of the commotion, there 
 was brought to Stilborough news of that 
 other calamity — -the mysterious disappearance 
 of young Anthony Castlemaine. He had 
 been seen to enter the Friar's Keep the pre- 
 vious night, and had never come out again. 
 The name of the Master of Greylands ap-
 
 AS SHE HAD SEEN IT IN HER DREAM. 231 
 
 peared to be mixed up in the affair ; but in 
 what manner was not yet understood. Verily 
 misfortunes seemed to be falling heavily just 
 now upon the Castlemaines. 
 
 This last event, however, after exciting- due 
 comment and wonder, was lost sight of in the 
 other evil : for the first nearly concerned the 
 interests of Stilborough, and the latter did 
 not concern them at all. Their ruin, their 
 ruin ! That was the all-absorbing topic in 
 the minds of the bewildered citizens. 
 
 An inquiry into the death of Peter Castle- 
 maine ended in a decision that he had died 
 from heart disease. This was arrived at 
 chiefly by the testimony and the urgent re- 
 presentation of Thomas Hill. One of the 
 medical men was supposed to hold a contrary 
 opinion ; and the dreadful doubt, previously 
 spoken of, would always lie on Miss Castle- 
 maine's mind ; but the other was the accepted 
 view. He was buried in the neighbouring 
 churchyard, St. Mark's : Parson Marston, 
 who had so often and so recently sat at his 
 dinner-table, performing the service. 
 
 Gradually the first excitement diminished. 
 Brains and tempers calmed down. For, added 
 to that natural depression that succeeds to 
 undue emotion, there arose a report that
 
 232 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 things would be well, after all, and everybody 
 paid to the full. 
 
 In fact, it was so. The money that had 
 been so long waited for — the speculation that 
 had at last turned up trumps — was pouring 
 in its returns. And there arose another 
 source of means to be added to it. 
 
 One morning the great Nnyndyll Mine 
 Company, that had been looked upon as be- 
 ing as good as dead, took a turn for the bet- 
 ter ; received, so to say, a new lease of life. 
 A fresh vein of surprising richness and un- 
 bounded extent had been struck : the smallest 
 shareholder might immediately reckon that 
 his fortune was an accomplished fact : and 
 those luck}^ enough to be largely interested 
 might cease speculation for ever, and pass 
 the time in building themselves castles and 
 palaces — with more solid foundations than 
 the air will furnish — to live in. The shares 
 went up in the market like rockets : everyone 
 was securing them as eagerly as we should 
 pick up diamonds if we got the chance. In a 
 very short time, the shares held by the house 
 of Mr. Peter Castlemaine might have been 
 resold for fifteen times the original amount 
 paid for them. 
 
 " Is this true, Hilli^" asked Mr. Castlemaine,,
 
 AS SHE HAD SEEN IT LV HER DREAM. 233 
 
 who had come bounding over on horseback 
 from Greylands' Rest at the first rumour of the 
 news, and found the old clerk at his post as 
 usual, before the private desk that had been 
 his master's. " Can it be true ?" repeated 
 Mr. Castlemaine. 
 
 He was changed since his brother's death. 
 That death, or something else, had told upon 
 him strangely. He and Peter had been fond 
 of each other. James had been proud of his 
 brother's position in the county ; his influence 
 and good name. The shock had come upon 
 him unexpectedly, as upon every one else : 
 and, in a manner, affected him far more. 
 Then, his interests were largely bound up 
 with those of his brother ; and though if he 
 lost all he had lent him he would still be a 
 rich man, yet the thought was not to be in- 
 dulged with indifference or contemplated plea- 
 santly. But to do him justice, these conside- 
 rations sank into insignificance before the 
 solemn fact of his brother's death, and the 
 mystery and uncertainty enshrouding it. 
 
 " Is it true, Hill ?" he reiterated before the 
 clerk had time to speak. " Or is it all as a 
 miserable delusion of Satan ?" 
 
 " It is true enough, sir," answered Thomas 
 Hill. "The shares have gone suddenly up
 
 234 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 like nothing I ever knew. Alas, that It 
 should be so !" 
 
 " Alas /" echoed Mr. Castlemaine. " What 
 mean you, Hill ? Has trouble turned your 
 brain ?" 
 
 " I was thinking of my poor dear master," 
 said the old man. " It was this very mine 
 that helped to kill him. You see now, Mr. 
 Castlemaine, how good his speculations were, 
 how sound his judgment ! Had he lived to 
 see this turn of affairs, all would have been 
 well." 
 
 " Too late to speak of that," said Mr. 
 Castlemaine, with a deep sigh. " He is dead ; 
 and we must now give our attention to the 
 living. This slice of luck will enable you to 
 pay all demands. The shares must be rea- 
 lized at once." 
 
 " Enable us to pay every one, as I believe," 
 assented Thomas Hill. " And otherwise we 
 should not." 
 
 " What a strange chance it seems to be !" 
 musingly observed Mr. Castlemaine. " A 
 chance that rarely occurs in life. Well, as I 
 say, it must be seized upon." 
 
 " And without delay, sir. The shares that 
 have gone up so unexpectedly, may fall as 
 suddenly. I'll write to-day."
 
 AS SHE HAD SEEN IT IN HER DREAM. 235 
 
 Mr. Castlemaine rose to depart. The clerk, 
 who was settling to his papers, again looked 
 off to ask a question. 
 
 " Have any tidings turned up, sir, of poor 
 Mr. Anthony ?" 
 
 " Not that I have heard of. Good-da)-, 
 Hill." 
 
 The expected money was realized ; other 
 expected money was realized ; and in an in- 
 credibly short space of time, for poor Thomas 
 Hill worked with a will, the affairs of the 
 bank were in a way of settlement, every 
 creditor to be fully satisfied, and the late un- 
 fortunate banker's name to be saved. Any- 
 thing that had been underhanded in his deal- 
 ing, Thomas Hill and Mr. Castlemaine had 
 contrived to keep from the public. 
 
 But one creditor, whose name did not 
 appear on the books, and who had put in no 
 demand to be satisfied, was passed over in 
 silence. Mary Ursula's fortune had been 
 hopelessly sacrificed ; and it was already 
 known that little, if anything, would be left 
 for her. She knew how and why her for- 
 tune had gone : Mr. Hill had explained it all 
 to her ; it had helped to save her father's 
 honour and good name ; and had it been ten 
 times the amount, she would freely have given
 
 236 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 it for such a purpose, and been thankful that 
 she had it to ofive. 
 
 Seeing what it had done, she did not, as 
 far as she herself was concerned, look upon it 
 with one moment's reofret. True she was now 
 poor ; very poor compared with the past : she 
 would have at most but about a hundred and 
 fifty pounds a year , but she was in too much 
 trouble to think much of money now. One 
 heavy weight had been lifted — the sickening 
 dread that the creditors would lose part or 
 all. On that one point she was now at rest. 
 But there were other things. There was the 
 underlying current of fear that her father had 
 not died of heart disease ; there was the mys- 
 terious perplexity attending the disappear- 
 ance of her cousin Anthony ; and there was 
 her own en^ao^ement to Mr. Blake-Gordon. 
 
 Pier position was now so different from 
 what it had been when he proposed to her, 
 and the severity, the pride, the arrogance 
 of Sir Richard so indisputable, that she 
 feared the worst. Moreover, she knew, from 
 the present conduct of both father and son, 
 that she had cause to fear it. 
 
 Twice, and twice only, had William Blake- 
 Gordon come to her since her father's death : 
 and he might so easily have come to her
 
 AS SHE HAD SEEN IT IN HER DREAM. 237 
 
 every day in her desolation ! Each time he 
 had been kind and loving as ever ; not a 
 suspicion, not a hint of separation had ap- 
 peared in look or tone ; but in his manner 
 there had been something never seen before : 
 a reticence ; a keeping back, as it were, of 
 words that ought to come out : and instinct 
 told her that all was not as it used to be. 
 
 " How does your*father take the news ? — 
 What does he say to it, and to my loss of for- 
 tune ? — Is he still willing to receive me ?" 
 she had asked on each occasion ; and as often 
 he had contrived to put aside the questions 
 without satisfactory answer. 
 
 Days went on ; her position, as to lack of 
 fortune, was known abroad ; and the suspense 
 she endured was making her ill. One morn- 
 ing at the breakfast table, as she finished 
 reading some letters that had been delivered 
 for her, Mrs. Webb, who had scanned the 
 letters outside from the opposite side of the 
 table, put a question that she often did-^put. 
 
 "Is any one of them from Mr. Blake-Gor- 
 don, my dear ?" 
 
 " No," replied Mary. And no one but 
 herself knew what It cost her to have to say 
 it : or how trying to her was the usual silence 
 that followed the answer.
 
 238 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 " I will end the suspense," she said to her- 
 self, shutting herself in her own sitting-room 
 when the meal was over. " It is Sir Richard, 
 I know ; not William : but at least they shall 
 not find me willing to enter the family on bare 
 sufferance. I will give them the oppor- 
 tunity of retiring from the engagement — if 
 that be what they wish for." 
 
 Drawing her desk towards her, she paused 
 with the pen in her hand, deliberating how to 
 write. Whether in a cold formal strain, or 
 affectionately and confidentially as of yore : 
 and she decided on the latter. 
 
 " My Dearest William, 
 
 " My circumstances have so changed 
 since the early days of our engagement, that 
 I feel I am now, in writing to you, adopting 
 the only course left open to me, both in fair- 
 ness to you and for the sake of my own 
 future happiness and peace of mind. 
 
 *' When you proposed to me and I ac- 
 cepted you, I was in a very different position 
 from that of to-day. Then I was supposed 
 to be — nay, I supposed myself— a very rich 
 woman. I was the daughter of a man be- 
 loved, honoured, and respected ; a member 
 of a house which, if not equal to your own in
 
 AS SHE HAD SEEN IT IN HER DREAM. 239 
 
 the past annals of the country, mlc,^ht at least 
 mix with it on equality and hold its own 
 amongst gentlemen. All this is now changed. 
 My dear father is no more, my large fortune 
 is gone, and I am left with next to nothing. 
 
 " That you asked me to become your wife 
 for myself alone, I feel sure of. I am cer- 
 tain that no thought of riches influenced you 
 in your choice : that you would take me now 
 as willingly as in the old days. But instinct — 
 or presentiment — tells me that others will step 
 in to interfere between us, and to enjoin a 
 separation. Should this be the case — should 
 your father's consent, once given, now be 
 withdrawn — then all must be at an end be- 
 tween us, and I will restore you your liberty. 
 Without the full approval of Sir Richard, 
 you cannot attempt to marry me ; neither 
 should I without it consent to become your 
 wife. 
 
 " If, on the other hand, that approval is 
 still held out to us both as freely as of yore, I 
 have only to add what you know so well — 
 that I am yours, now as ever. 
 
 '* Mary Ursula Castlemaine.'^ 
 
 The letter written, she hesitated no longer 
 about the necessity or wisdom of the step.
 
 240 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 Sealing it, she despatched it by a trusty mes- 
 senger to Sir Richard's house just beyond 
 the town. 
 
 The news of the failure of the bank and 
 death of its master, had reached Sir Richard 
 Blake- Gordon when he was at a dinner- 
 party. It fell upon him with startling effect. 
 For a moment he felt half paralyzed : and 
 then the blood once more took its free course 
 through his veins as he remembered that his 
 son's marriage was yet a thing of the future. 
 
 " Never," he said to himself, with energy. 
 " Never, as long as I live. I may have a 
 battle with William ; but I could always 
 twist him round my fingers. In that respect 
 he is his poor mother all over. No such 
 weakness about me. Failed for millions ! 
 Good Heavens, what an escape ! We shall be 
 quite justified in breaking with the daughter ; 
 and she and William have both sense enough 
 to see it." 
 
 He was not of those who put off disagree- 
 able things until they will be put off no 
 longer. That very night, meeting his son 
 when he got home, he began, after express- 
 ing regret for the banker's sudden death. 
 
 " A sad affair about the bank ! Who would 
 have expected it ?"
 
 AS SHE HAD SEEN IT IN HER DREAM. 241 
 
 " Who, indeed !" returned William Blake- 
 Gordon. ** Every one thought the bank as 
 safe as the Bank of England. Safer, if 
 anything." 
 
 "It only shows how subject, more or less, all 
 private concerns are to fluctuations — changes 
 —failures — and what not," continued Sir 
 Richard. 
 
 " Whatever this may be — failure or not — 
 it will at least be open and straightforward," 
 said William. " Mr. Peter Castlemaine -was 
 the soul of honour. The embarrassments 
 must have arisen from other quarters, and 
 Thomas Hill says the trouble and anxiety 
 have killed him." 
 
 " Poor man ! People are expecting it to 
 be an awful failure. Not five shillines in the 
 pound for the creditors, and all the Castle- 
 maine family ruined. This must terminate 
 your engagement." 
 
 The sudden mandate fell on the young 
 man's ears with a shock. He thoueht at the 
 first moment his father must be jesting. 
 
 "It must terminate my engagement ?" he 
 retorted, catchinor siijht of the dark stern 
 countenance. " What, give up Mary Castle- 
 maine ? Never, father ! Never will I do it 
 so long as I shall live." 
 
 VOL. I, 16
 
 242 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 ** Yes, you will," said Sir Richard, quietly. 
 " I cannot allow you to sacrifice your prospects 
 in life." 
 
 " To give up her would be to sacrifice all 
 the prospects I care for." 
 
 " Tush, William !" 
 
 " Think what it is you would advise, sir !" 
 spoke the son with ill-suppressed emotion. 
 " Putting aside my own feelings, think of 
 the dishonour to my name ! I should be 
 shunned by all good and true men ; I should 
 shun myself. Why, I would not live through 
 such dishonour." 
 
 Sir Richard took a pinch of snuff. 
 
 " These misfortunes only render it the 
 more urgent for me to carry out the engage- 
 ment, sir. Is it possible that you do not see 
 it ? Mary Castlemaine's happiness is, I be- 
 lieve, bound up in me ; and mine, I freely 
 avow it, is in hers. Surely, father, you would 
 not part us !" 
 
 " Listen, William," spoke Sir Richard, in 
 the calm, stern tones he could assume at will, 
 more telling, more penetrating than the loud- 
 est passion. " Should Miss Castlemaine be- 
 come portionless — as I believe it will turn 
 out she has become — you cannot marry her. 
 Or, if you do, it would be with my curse. I
 
 AS SHE HAD SEEN IT IN HER DREAM. 243 
 
 would not advise you, for your own sake, to 
 invoke that. You can look elsewhere for a 
 wife : there are numbers of young women as 
 eligible as ever was Miss Castlemaine." 
 
 Long they talked together, far on into the 
 niofht, the stern tones on the one hand be- 
 coming persuasive ones ; the opposition sink- 
 ing into silence. When they separated, Sir 
 Richard felt that he had three parts gained 
 his point. 
 
 "It is all right," said he mentally, as he 
 stalked up to bed with his candle. " William 
 was always ultra dutiful." 
 
 Sir Richard interdicted his son's visits to 
 ]\Iiss Castlemaine ; and the one or two scant 
 calls the young man made on her, were made 
 in disobedience. But this state of thinofs could 
 not last. William Blake-Gordon, with his 
 yielding nature, had ever possessed a rather 
 exaggerated idea of the duty a son owes his 
 father : moreover, he knew instinctively that 
 Mary would never consent to marry in oppo- 
 sition to Sir Richard, even thoucrh he brouofht 
 himself to do it. 
 
 It soon became known abroad that Miss 
 Castlemaine's fortune had certainly been sac- 
 rificed. Sir Richard was cold and distant to 
 his son, the young man miserable. 
 
 16 — 2
 
 244 THE MASTER OF GRE VLANDS. 
 
 One day the baronet returned to the charge ; 
 intending his mandate to be final. They were 
 in the Hbrary. William's attitude was one of 
 utter dejection as he leaned against the side 
 of the window, looking forth on the spring 
 sunshine : sunshine that brought no gladness 
 for him. He saw too clearly what the end 
 would be : that his own weakness, or his sense 
 of filial duty, call it which you may, must give 
 way before the stronger will, the commanding 
 nature. 
 
 " Your conduct is now simply cruel to Miss 
 Castlemaine," Sir Richard was saying. " You 
 are keeping her all this time in suspense. Or, 
 perhaps — worse still- — allowing her to cherish 
 the hope that her altered circumstances will 
 not cause the engagement to terminate." 
 
 " I can't help it," replied William. "The 
 engagement has no business to terminate. It 
 was sacredly entered into : and, without ade- 
 quate reason, it ought to be as sacredly kept." 
 
 " You are a living representation of folly," 
 cried Sir Richard. " Adequate reason ! 
 There's reason enough for breaking off fifty 
 engagements. Can you not see the matter in 
 its proper light ?" 
 
 " That is what I do see," replied William, 
 sadly. " I see that the engagement ought to
 
 AS SHE HAD SEEN IT IN HER DREAM. 245 
 
 be maintained. For my own part, I never 
 can go to Mary and tell her that I am to give 
 her up." 
 
 " Coward !" said Sir Richard, with a great 
 frown. " Then I must.*' 
 
 " I fear you are right," returned William : 
 " a coward I am, little better. It is a cow- 
 ardly thing to break off this alliance — the 
 world will call it by a very different name. 
 Father," he added, appealingly, " is my hap- 
 piness nothing to you ? Can you sacrifice us 
 both to your pride and vainglory." 
 
 " You will see it very differently some day," 
 returned Sir Richard. "When you have 
 lived in the world as long as I have, you will 
 laugh at yourself for these ridiculously ro- 
 mantic ideas. Instead of marring your hap- 
 piness, I am making it. Substantially, too." 
 
 " I think, sir," said Mr. Blake-Gordon, not 
 liking the tone, " that you might leave me to 
 be the judge of what is best for my own hap- 
 piness." 
 
 " There you are mistaken, my dear Wil- 
 liam. You have but a young head on your 
 shoulders : you see things de tort et de travers, 
 as the French have it. The engagement with 
 Peter Castlemaine's daughter would never 
 have received my sanction but for her great
 
 246 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 wealth. We are poor, and it is essential that 
 you should marry a large fortune if you marry 
 at all. That wealth of hers has now melted, 
 and consequently the contract is at an end. 
 This is the common-sense view of the circum- 
 stances which the world will take. Done, it 
 must be, William. Shall I see the young 
 lady for you ? or will you be a man and see 
 her for yourself ?" 
 
 But before Mr. Blake- Gordon had time to 
 reply, a note was brought in. It was the one 
 written by Miss Castlemaine ; and it could 
 not have arrived more seasonably for Sir 
 Richard's views. The young man opened it ; 
 read it to the end ; and passed it to his father 
 in silence. 
 
 " A very sensible girl, upon my word," ex- 
 claimed Sir Richard, when he had mastered 
 the contents by the aid of a double eye-glass. 
 " She sees things in their right light. Castle- 
 maine was, after all, an extremely honourable 
 man, and put proper notions into her. This 
 greatly facilitates matters, William. Our 
 path is now quite smoothed out for us. I 
 will myself write to her. You can do the 
 same, if you are so disposed. Had this only 
 come before, what arguments it might have 
 saved !"
 
 AS SHE HAD SEEN IT IN HER DREAM. 247 
 
 Upon whicli the baronet sat down, and in- 
 dited tlie following epistle : 
 
 " Mv DEAR YOUNG LaDY, 
 
 " Your note — which my son has handed 
 to me — has o-iven me in one sense a degree 
 of pleasure ; for I perceive in it traces of 
 good sense and judgment, such as women do 
 not always possess. 
 
 " You are right in supposing that under the 
 present aspect of affairs a marriage between 
 yourself and Mr. Blake-Gordon would be un- 
 advisable." (She had supposed nothing of the 
 sort, but it suited him to assume it.) " And 
 therefore I concur with you in your opinion 
 that the engagement should terminate. 
 
 " Deeply though I regret this personally, I 
 have yet felt it my duty to insist upon it to 
 my son : not only for his sake, but for your 
 own. The very small means I am able to 
 spare to him render it impossible for him to 
 take a portionless wife, and I could never 
 sanction a step that would drag him down to 
 poverty and embarrassment. I was about 
 to write to you, or to see you, to tell you this, 
 for William shrank from the task, and your 
 note has agreeably simplified what had to be 
 done. We cordiall}-, though reluctantly, agree
 
 248 THE MASTER OF GRE YLANDS. 
 
 to what you have had the good feeling to 
 propose. 
 
 " At all times I shall be delighted to hear 
 of your welfare and happiness ; and, believe 
 me, my dear Miss Castlemaine, you have not 
 a more sincere well-wisher than your devoted 
 friend and servant, 
 
 " Richard Blake-Gordon." 
 
 With much inward satisfaction the baronet 
 folded the letter. He was wise enough not 
 to show it to his son ; w^ho, honourable in 
 thought and feeling as he was weak in nature, 
 might have been prompted to tear it into 
 shreds, and declare that come good, come ill, 
 he would stand true to his plighted word. 
 
 " There !" said Sir Richard, with a grunt of 
 relief, as he affixed his seal, " I have accom- 
 plished that task for you, William. As I said 
 before, write to her yourself if you will, but 
 be quick about it. In half-an-hour I shall 
 send back my answer." 
 
 "■ Give me that time to myself," said Wil- 
 liam, rising to leave the room. " If I have 
 anything to say I will write it." 
 
 At the end of the half-hour he had written 
 the following words ; and the note was de- 
 spatched with his father's.
 
 AS SHE HAD SEEN IT IX HER DREAM. 249 
 
 " My Darling, 
 
 " I suppose we must separate ; but all 
 happiness for me is over in this world. You, 
 will, however, accord me a final interview ; a 
 moment for explanation ; I cannot part with- 
 out that. I will be with you this afternoon 
 at four o'clock. 
 
 " In spite of all, 
 " I am for ever yours — and yours only, 
 
 '' William." 
 
 Unlike his father's letter, there was no 
 hypocrisy in this, no stupid form of words. 
 When he wrote that all happiness for him 
 was over, he meant it ; and he wrote trul)'. 
 Perhaps he deserved no less : but, if he 
 merited blame, judgment might accord him 
 some pity with it. 
 
 When Mary received the letters, she felt 
 certain of their contents before a word was 
 seen. Sir Richard would not himself have 
 written but to break off the engagement. He 
 had not even called upon her in all these long, 
 weary days of desolation and misery : and 
 there could be but one motive for this unkind 
 neglect. His note would now explain it. 
 
 But when she came to read its contents : 
 its hollow hypocrisy, its plausible, specious
 
 250 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 argument, its profession of friendship and 
 devotion ; the pang of the death-blow gave 
 place to the highest anger and indignation. 
 
 At that moment of bitterness the letter 
 sounded to her desperately hollow and cruel, 
 worse perhaps than it even was. The pain 
 was more than her wounded spirit — so tried 
 in the past few weeks — could bear ; and with 
 a brief but violent storm of sobs, with which 
 no tears came, she tore the letter in two and 
 threw it into the fire. 
 
 " At least he might have done it differently," 
 she said to herself in her anguish. " He 
 might have written in a manner that would 
 have made me feel it less." 
 
 It was one of her first lessons in the 
 world's harshness, in the selfish nature of 
 man. Happy for her if in her altered cir- 
 cumstances she had not many such to learn ! 
 
 Presently, when she had grown a little 
 calm, she opened the other note, almost 
 wondering whether it would be a repetition 
 of the cool falsity of Sir Richard's, Ah no^ 
 no ! 
 
 " I will see him," she said, when she read 
 the few words. " But the interview shall be 
 brief. Of what use to prolong the agony ?" 
 So when William Blake-Gordon, true to his
 
 AS SHE HAD SEEN IT IN HER DREAM. 251 
 
 appointment, reached the bank at four o'clock, 
 he was admittcck 
 
 How different an aspect the house presented 
 from the busde and the sociaHty of the days 
 gone by! A stillness, as of a dead city, reigned. 
 Rooms that had re-echoed with merry voices 
 and light footsteps above, with the ring of 
 gold and the tones of busy men below, were 
 now silent and deserted. No change of any 
 kind had yet been made in the household 
 arrangements, but that was soon to come. 
 The servants would be discliarged, the costly 
 furniture was already marked for the hammer; 
 Mrs. Webb must leave, and — what was to be 
 the course of Miss Castlemaine ? She had 
 not even asked herself the question, while the 
 eneaeement with Mr. Blake- Gordon remained 
 officially unbroken. 
 
 The butler opened the door to him and 
 ushered him into the drawing-room. Mary 
 came forward to greet him with her pale, sad 
 face — a face that startled her lover. He 
 clasped her to him, and she burst into sobs 
 and tears. There are moments of anguish 
 when pride gives way. 
 
 " Oh, my darling !" he cried, scarcely less 
 agitated than herself, " you are feeling this 
 cruel decision almost unto death ! Why did
 
 252 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 you write that letter ?— why did you not re- 
 main firm ? — and thereby tacitly insist on our 
 engagement being fulfilled ?" 
 
 Never had his weakness of nature been 
 more betrayed than then. "Why did not she 
 insist ?" — as if conscious that he was power- 
 less to do it ! She felt it keenly : she felt 
 that in this, at least, a gulf lay between them. 
 
 " What I have done is for the best," she 
 said, gently disengaging herself, and suppres- 
 sing the signs of her emotion, as she motioned 
 him to a seat. "In my altered circumstances 
 I felt — at least I feared — that no happiness 
 could await our marriage. Your father, in 
 the first place, would never have given his 
 consent." 
 
 " There are times when duty to a father 
 should give place to duty to one's self," he 
 returned, forgetting how singularl}^ this argu- 
 ment was contradicted by his own conduct. 
 *' All my happiness in life is over." 
 
 " As you wrote to me," she said. " But by- 
 and-by, when you shall have forgotten all this, 
 William, and time has brought things round, 
 you will meet with some one who will be able 
 to make you happy : perhaps as much so as I 
 should have done : and you will look back on 
 these days as a dream."
 
 AS SHE HAD SEEN IT IN HER DREAM. 253 
 
 •' Mary !" 
 
 " And it will be better so." 
 
 " And you ?" he asked, Avith a stifled groan 
 of remorse. 
 
 " I ?" she returned, with a smile, half sad, 
 half derisive. " I am nobody now. You 
 have a place to fill in the world ; I shall soon 
 be heard of no more." 
 
 " But where are you going to live, Mary ? 
 You have nothing left out of the wreck." 
 
 " I have a little. Enough for my future 
 wants. At present I shall go on a visit to 
 Greylands' Rest. My uncle urges it, and he 
 is the nearest representative of my father. 
 Depend upon it, I shall meet with some occu- 
 pation in life that will make me contented if 
 not happy." 
 
 " Until you marry," he said. " Marry some 
 man more noble than I ; more worthy of you." 
 
 For a moment she looked steadily at him, 
 and then her face flushed hot with pain. But 
 she would not contradict it. She began to 
 think that she had never quite understood the 
 nature of Mr. Blake-Gordon. 
 
 " In the future, you and I will probably not 
 meet often, William ; if at all," she resumed. 
 " But you will carry with you my best wishes, 
 and I shall always rejoice to hear of your hap-
 
 254 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 piness and prosperity. The past we must, 
 both of us, try to forget." 
 
 " I shall never forget it," was the impulsive 
 answer. 
 
 " Do you remember my dream ?" she sadly 
 asked. " The one I told you of that ball 
 night. How strangely it is being fulfilled ! 
 And, do you know, I think that beautiful 
 Dresden vase, that papa broke, must have 
 been an omen of the evil in store for the 
 house." 
 
 He stood up now, feeling how miserable it 
 all was, feeling his own littleness. For a 
 short while longer they talked together : but 
 Mary wished the interview over. 
 
 When it came to the actual parting she 
 nearly broke down. It was very hard and 
 bitter. Her life had not so long ago promised 
 to be so bright ! Now all was at an end. As 
 to marriaofe — never for her : of that kind of 
 happiness the future contained none. Calm- 
 ness, patience in suffering, resignation, and in 
 time even contentment, she might find in some 
 path of duty ; but beyond that, nothing. 
 
 They stood close together, her hands held 
 in his, their hearts aching with pain and 
 yearning, each to each, with that sad yearning 
 that is born of utter hopelessness. A parting
 
 AS SHE HAD SEEN IT IN HER DREAM. 255 
 
 like this seems to be more cruel than the 
 partinf^ of death. 
 
 " Come what may, Mary, I shall love you, 
 and you alone, to the end. You tell me I 
 shall marry : it may be so ; 1 know not : but 
 if so, my wife, whomsoever she may be, will 
 never have my love ; never, never. We do 
 not love twice in a lifetime. And, if those 
 who have loved on earth are permitted to 
 meet in Heaven, you and I, my best and 
 dearest, shall assuredly find together in Eter- 
 nity the happiness denied us here." 
 
 She was but mortal, after all ; and the 
 words sent a strange thrill of pleasure through 
 her heart. Ah, no ! he would never love an- 
 other as he had loved her ; she knew it : and 
 it might be — it might be — that they should 
 recoQfnise each other in the bliss of a never- 
 ending Hereafter ! 
 
 And so they parted, each casting upon the 
 other a long, last, lingering look, just as Mary 
 had already imagined in her foreboding 
 dream. 
 
 That evening, as Miss Castlemaine was 
 sitting alone, musing on the past, the present, 
 and the future, nursing her misery and her 
 desolation, the door opened and Thomas Hill 
 was shown in. She had seen more of him
 
 256 THE MASTER OF GREY LANDS. 
 
 than of any one else, save Mrs. Webb, since 
 the ruin. 
 
 " Miss Mary," said he, when they had 
 shaken hands, " I've come to ask you whether 
 the report can be true ?" 
 
 " What report ?" inquired Mary : but a sus- 
 picion of what he must mean rushed over her, 
 ere the words had well passed her lips. 
 
 " Perhaps it is hardly a report," said the 
 clerk, correcting himself ; " for I doubt if any 
 one else knows of it. I met Sir Richard to-day, 
 my dear young lady," he continued, advancing 
 and taking her hands, his tone full of indignant 
 commiseration ; " and in answer to some re- 
 mark I made about your marriage, he said the 
 marriage was not to take place ; it was at an 
 end. I did not believe him." 
 
 " It is quite true," replied Mary, with diffi- 
 culty controlling her voice. " I am glad that 
 it is at an end." 
 
 " Glad ?" he repeated, looking into her face 
 with his kindly old eyes. 
 
 " Yes. It is much better so. Sir Richard, 
 in the altered state of my fortunes, would, 
 never think me a sufficiently good match for 
 his son." 
 
 -' But the honour, Miss Mary ! Or rather 
 the ^/jhonour of their breaking it off! And
 
 AS SHE HAD SEEX IT IN HER DREAM, zn 
 
 your happiness ? Is that not to be thought 
 of?" 
 
 " All thiners that are wrono^ will ri<rht them- 
 selves," she replied with a quiet smile. *' At 
 least, Sir Richard thinks so," 
 
 " And Mr. Blake-Gordon ? Is he willing 
 to submit to the separation quietly ? Pardon 
 me, Miss Mary. If your father were alive, I 
 should know my place too well to say a word 
 on the subject : but — but I seem to have been 
 drawn very close to you since that time of 
 desolation, and my heart resents all slight on 
 you as Jic would have resented it. I could 
 not rest until I knew the truth." 
 
 " Say no more about it," breathed Mary. 
 " Let the topic lie between us as one that had 
 never had existence. It will be for my hap- 
 piness." 
 
 " But can nothing be done ?" persisted 
 Thomas Hill. " Should not your uncle go 
 and expostulate with them and expose their 
 villainy — for I can call it by no other name V 
 
 " Not for worlds," she said, hastily. " It is 
 / who have broken the engagement, Mr. Hill ; 
 not they. I wrote this morning and restored 
 Mr. Blake-Gordon his freedom : this afternoon 
 I bade him farewell for ever. It is all over 
 and done with : never mention it again to me." 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 " And you ? — what are your plans for the 
 future ? — And, oh, forgive me for being 
 anxious, my dear young lady ! I had you on 
 my knee often as a little one, and in my heart 
 you have been as dear to me and seemed to 
 grow up as my own daughter. Where shall 
 you live ?" 
 
 " I cannot yet tell where. I am poor, you 
 know," she added, with one of her sweet, sad 
 smiles, " For the present I am going on a 
 visit to my Uncle James." 
 
 " Greylands' Rest would be your most suit- 
 able home now," spoke Thomas Hill slowly 
 and dubiously. " But — I don't know that 
 you would like it. Mrs. Castlemaine " 
 
 He stopped, hardly liking to say what was 
 in his mind — that Mrs. Castlemaine was not 
 the most desirable of Avomen to live with. 
 Mary understood him. 
 
 " Only on a visit," she said. " While there, 
 I shall have leisure to think of the future. 
 My hundred and hfty pounds a year — and 
 that much you all say will be secured to 
 me " 
 
 " And^the whole of what I possess, Miss 
 Mary." 
 
 " My hundred and fifty pounds a year will 
 seem as a sufficient income to me, once I
 
 AS SHE HAD SEEN IT IN HER DREAM. 259 
 
 have brought m}- mind down from its 
 heights," she continued, with another faint 
 smile, as though unmindful of the interrup- 
 tion. " Trust me, my dear old friend, the 
 future shall not be as gloomy as, by the 
 expression of your face, you seem to antici- 
 pate. I am not weak enough to throw away 
 my life in repining, and in wishing for what 
 Heaven sees fit to deny me." 
 
 " Heaven ?" he repeated, in an accent of 
 reproof 
 
 " Let us say circumstances, then. But in 
 the very worst fate, it may be, that Heaven's 
 hand may be working — over-ruling all for our 
 eventual good. My future life can be a 
 useful one ; and I, if not happy, at least con- 
 tented." 
 
 But that night, in the solitude of her 
 chamber, she opened a small box, containing 
 nothing but a few faded white rose-leaves. It 
 was the first tremblincj offerino- William Blake- 
 Gordon had given her, long before he dared 
 to tell of his love. Before they were again put 
 away out of sight, tears, bitter as any shed in 
 her whole life, had fallen upon them. 
 
 17 — 2
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 INSIDE THE NUNNERY. 
 
 HE time had gone on at Greylands ; 
 and its great theme of excitement, 
 the disappearance of Anthony Cas- 
 tlemaine, was an event of the past. 
 Not an iota of evidence had arisen to tell 
 how he disappeared : but an uneasy suspicion 
 of Mr. Castlemaine lurked in corners. John 
 Bent had been the chief instigator in this. 
 As truly as he believed the sun shone in the 
 heavens, so did he believe that Anthony 
 Castlemaine had been put out of the way by 
 his uncle ; sent out of the world, in fact, that 
 the young man might not imperil his posses- 
 sion of Greylands' Rest. He did not say to 
 the public, in so many words, Mr. Castle- 
 maine has killed his nephew ; that might not 
 have been prudent ; but the bent of his con-
 
 INSIDE THE NUNNERY. 261 
 
 viction could not be mistaken ; and when 
 alone with his wife he scrupled not to talk 
 freely. All Greylands did not share in the 
 opinion. The superstitious villagers attri- 
 buted the disappearance to be due in some 
 unconjectural manner to the dreaded spirit of 
 the Grey Monk, haunting the Friar's Keep. 
 Their fears of the place were augmented ten- 
 fold. Not one would 00 at nioht within 
 sight of it, save on the greatest compulsion ; 
 and Commodore Teague (a brave, fearless 
 man, as was proved by his living so near the 
 grim building alone) had whispered that the 
 Grey Friar was abroad again with his lamp, 
 for he had twice seen him glide past the case- 
 ments. What with one fear and another, 
 Greylands was not altogether in a state of 
 calmness. 
 
 Mary Ursula had come to Greylands' Rest. 
 The once happy home at Stilborough was 
 given up, the furniture sold : and the affairs 
 of the bank were virtually settled. A suffi- 
 cient sum had been saved from the wreck to 
 bring her in about a hundred and fifty pounds 
 per annum ; that income was secured to her 
 for life and would be at her disposal at death. 
 All claims were being paid to the uttermost 
 shilling ; liberal presents were given to the
 
 262 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 clerks and servants thrown suddenly out of 
 employment ; and not a reproach, or shadow 
 of it, could be cast on the house of Castle- 
 main e. 
 
 Before Mary had been a week at Grey- 
 lands' Rest, she was mentally forming her 
 plans for leaving it. Mr. Castlemaine would 
 fain have kept her there always : he was fond 
 and proud of her ; he thought there was no 
 other woman like her in the world. Not so 
 Mrs. Castlemaine. She resented her hus- 
 band's love and reverence for his niece ; and 
 she, little-minded, full of spite, was actually 
 jealous of her. She had always felt a 
 jealousy of the banker's daughter, living in 
 her luxurious home at Stilborough, keeping 
 the high society that Mrs. Castlemaine did 
 not keep ; she had a shrewd idea that she 
 herself, with her little tempers, and her petty 
 frivolities, was sometimes compared unfavour- 
 ably with Mary Ursula by her husband, wife 
 though she was ; and she had far rather some 
 disagreeable animal had taken up its abode 
 at Greylands' Rest for good, than this grand, 
 noble, beautiful orirl. Now and afjain even in 
 those first few days, she contrived to betray 
 this feeling : and it may be that this served 
 to hasten Mary's plans. Flora, too, was a
 
 INSIDE THE NUNNERY. 263 
 
 perpetual source of annoyance to every- 
 body but her mother ; and the young lady 
 was as rude to Miss Castlemaine as to other 
 people. 
 
 Since her parting with Mr. Blake-Gordon, 
 an idea had dawned upon and been growing 
 in Mary Ursula's mind. It was, that she 
 should join the Sisterhood of the Grey 
 Ladies. The more she dwelt upon it, the 
 greater grew her conviction that it would be 
 just the life now suited to her. Unlike Mr. 
 Castlemaine, she had always held the Sisters 
 in reverence and respect. They were self- 
 denying; they led a useful life before Heaven ; 
 they were of no account in the world : what 
 better career could she propose, or wish, for her- 
 self, now that near and dear social ties were 
 denied her ? And she formed her resolution : 
 though she almost dreaded to impart it to her 
 uncle. 
 
 Mr. Castlemaine stood one morning at the 
 window of his study, looking out on the 
 whitened landscape, for snow covered the 
 ground. The genial weather that came in so 
 early had given place to winter again : not 
 often is spring so changeable as they had it 
 that year. The sad, worn look that might be 
 seen lately on the Master of Greylands' face,
 
 264 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 though rarely when in company, sat on it. 
 now. He pushed his dark hair from his 
 brow with a hasty hand, as some thought, 
 worse than the rest, disturbed him, and a 
 heavy groan escaped his Hps. Drowning it 
 with a cough, for at that moment somebody 
 knocked at the study door, he held his breath 
 but did not answer. The knock came again,, 
 and he did not know the knock : certainly it 
 was not Miles's. 
 
 He strode to open the door with a frown. 
 It was an understood thing in the house that 
 this room was sacred to its master. There 
 stood Mary, in her deep mourning. 
 
 " I have ventured to come to you here, 
 Uncle James," she said, " as I wish to speak 
 with you alone. Can you spare me some 
 minutes ?" 
 
 " Any number to you, Mary. And remem- 
 ber, my dear, that yoiL are always welcome 
 here." 
 
 He gave her a chair, shut down his bureau 
 and locked it, and took a seat himself. For a 
 moment she paused, and then began in 
 some hesitation. 
 
 " Uncle James, I have been forming my 
 plans." 
 
 " Plans T he echoed.
 
 INSIDE THE NUNNERY. 26 J 
 
 " And I have come to tell them to you 
 before I tell any one else." 
 
 " Well ?" said Mr. Castlemaine, wondering- 
 what was coming. 
 
 " 1 should like 1 must have some occu- 
 pation in life, you know ?" 
 
 " Occupation .? Well ?" 
 
 " And I have not been long' in making up 
 my mind what it shall be. I shall join the 
 Sisterhood." 
 
 " Join the what ?" 
 
 " The Sisters at the Grey Nunnery, uncle." 
 
 Mr, Castlemaine pushed back his chair in 
 angry astonishment when the sense of the 
 words fully reached him. " The Sisters at 
 the Grey Nunnery !" he indignantly cried. 
 " Join those Grey women who lead such an 
 idle, gossiping, meddling life, that I have no 
 patience when I think of them ! Never shall 
 you do that, Mary Ursula." 
 
 "It seems to me that you have always 
 mistaken them, uncle," she said ; " have done 
 them wrong in your heart. They are noble 
 women, and they are leading a noble life — " 
 
 " A petty, obscure life," he interrupted. 
 
 "It is obscure ; but in its usefulness and 
 self-sacrifice it must be noble. What would 
 Greylands be without their care ?"
 
 266 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 " A great deal better than with it." 
 
 " They help the poor, they tend the sick, 
 they teach the young ones ; they try to make 
 the fishermen think a little of God. Who 
 would do it if they were not here, uncle ? 
 Do you know, I have thought so much of 
 it in the past few days that I lono- to join 
 them," 
 
 " This is utter folly !" cried Mr. Castle- 
 maine ; and he had never felt so inclined to 
 be angry with his niece. " To join this 
 meddling Sisterhood would be to sacrifice all 
 your future prospects in life." 
 
 " I have no prospects left to sacrifice," 
 returned Mary. " You know that, Uncle 
 James." 
 
 " No prospects ? Nonsense ! Because that 
 dishonourable rascal, William Blake-Gordon, 
 has chosen to forfeit his engagement, and 
 make himself a by-word in the mouths of 
 men, are you to renounce the world ? Many 
 a better gentleman than he, my dear, will be 
 seeking you before a few months have gone 
 
 by." 
 
 " I shall never marry," was her firm 
 answer. " Never, never. Whether I joined 
 the Sisters or not ; whether I retired from 
 the world, or mixed to my dying day in all
 
 INSIDE THE NUNNERY. 267 
 
 its pomps and gaieties ; still I should never 
 marry. So you see, Uncle James, I have 
 now to make my future, and to create for my- 
 self an object in life." 
 
 " Well, we'll leave the question of marry- 
 ing. Meanwhile your present home must be 
 with me, Mary Ursula. I cannot spare you. 
 I should like you to make up your mind to 
 stay in it always, unless other and nearer 
 ties shall call you forth." 
 
 " You are very kind, Uncle James ; you 
 always have been kind. But I — I must be 
 independent," she added, with a smile and a 
 slight flush. " Forgive the seeming ingrati- 
 tude, uncle dear." 
 
 " Very independent, you would be, if >'0u 
 joined those living-by-rule women i" 
 
 " In one sense I should be thoroughly inde- 
 pendent, uncle. My income will be most 
 welcome to them, for they are, as you know, 
 
 very poor " 
 
 " Your income !" he interrupted, half scof- 
 fingly. " I wish — I wish, Mary — you would 
 allow me to augment it !" 
 
 " And I shall be close to Greylands' Rest,'' 
 she continued, with a slight shake of the 
 head, for this proposal to settle money upon 
 her had become quite a vexatious question.
 
 268 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 " I shall be able to come here to see you 
 often." 
 
 " Mary Ursula, I will hear no more of 
 this," he cried, quite passionately. " You 
 shall never do it with my consent." 
 
 She rose and laid her pleading hands upon 
 his. " Uncle, pardon me, but my mind is 
 made up. I have not decided hastily, or 
 without due consideration. By day and by 
 night I have dwelt upon it — I — I hdive prayed 
 over it, uncle — and I plainly see it is the best 
 thing for me. I would sooner spend my days 
 there than anywhere, because I shall be near 
 you, 
 
 "And I want you to be near me. But not 
 in a nunnery." 
 
 "It is not a nunnery now, you know, 
 Uncle James, though the building happens 
 still to bear the name. If I take up my 
 abode there, I take no vows, remember. 
 I do not renounce the world. Should any 
 necessity arise — though I think it will not — 
 for me to resume my place in society, I am 
 at full liberty to put off my grey gown and 
 bonnet and do so." 
 
 "What do you think your father would 
 have said to this, Mary Ursula ?" 
 
 " Were my father alive, Uncle James, the
 
 INSIDE THE NUNNERY. 269 
 
 question never could have arisen ; my place 
 would have been with him. But I think — if 
 he could see me now under all these altered 
 circumstances — I think he would say to me 
 Go." 
 
 There was no turning her. James Castle- 
 maine saw it : and when she quitted the room 
 he felt that the step, unless some special hin- 
 drance intervened, would be carried out. 
 
 " The result of being clever enough to 
 have opinions of one's own !" muttered Mr. 
 Castlemaine, in reference to the, to him, most 
 unwelcome project. 
 
 Turning to the window again, he stood 
 there, looking out. Looking out, but seeing 
 nothing. The Friar's Keep opposite, rising 
 dark and grim from contrast with the inter- 
 vening white landscape ; the sparkling blue 
 sea beyond, glittering in the frosty sunshine : 
 he saw none of it. The snow must be blind- 
 ing his sight, or some deep trouble his per- 
 ceptive senses. Mr. Castlemaine had other 
 motives than the world knew of for wishinp- 
 to keep his niece out of the Grey Nunnery ; 
 but he did not see how it was to be done. 
 
 Mary Ursula had passed Into her own 
 chamber : the best room in the house, and 
 luxuriously furnished. 1 1 was generally kept
 
 270 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 for dlstlno^Liished Qruests : and Mrs. Castle- 
 maine had thought a plainer one might have 
 served the young lady, their relative ; but, as 
 she muttered resentfully to the empty air, if 
 Mr. Castlemaine could load the banker's 
 daughter with gold and precious stones, he'd 
 go out of his way to do it. 
 
 Drawing her chair to the fire, Mary sat 
 down and thought out her plan. And, the 
 longer she dwelt upon it, the more did she 
 feel convinced that she was right in its adop- 
 tion. A few short weeks before, and had 
 any one told her she would enter the Nun- 
 nery and become one of the Grey Sisters, she 
 had started back in aversion. But ideas 
 change with circumstances. Then she had a 
 happy home of splendour, an indulgent father, 
 riches that seemed unbounded at command, 
 the smiles of the gay world, and a lover to 
 whom she was shortly to be united. Now 
 she had none of these : all had been wrested 
 from her at one fell swoop. To the outward 
 world she had seemed to take her misfortunes 
 calmly : but none knew how they had wrung 
 her very soul. It had seemed to her that her 
 heart was broken : it seemed to her as though 
 some retired and quiet place to rest in were 
 absolutely needful while she recovered, if she
 
 INSIDE THE NUNNERY. 271 
 
 ever did recover, the effects of these calami- 
 ties. But she did not want to sit down under 
 her grief and nourish it : she had prayed ear- 
 nestly, and did still pray, that it would please 
 Heaven to enable her to find consolation in 
 her future life, and that it might be one of 
 usefulness to others, as it could not be one of 
 happiness to herself. But a latent prevision 
 sometimes made itself heard, that happiness 
 would eventually come ; that in persevering 
 in her laid-out path, she should find it. 
 
 " The sooner I enter upon it, the better,'* 
 she said, rising from her chair and shaking 
 out the crape folds of her black silk dress. 
 " And there's nothing to wait for, now that I 
 have broken it to my uncle." 
 
 Glancing at her own face as she passed a 
 mirror, she halted to look at the change that 
 trouble had made in it. Others mieht not 
 notice it, but to herself it was very percep- 
 tible. The beautiful features were thinner 
 than of yore, the cheeks bore a fainter rose- 
 colour ; her stately form had lost somewhat 
 of its roundness. Ah, it was not her own sor- 
 row that had mostly told upon Mary Castle- 
 maine ; it was the sudden death of her father, 
 and the agonizing doubt attending on it. 
 
 " If I could but know that it was God's
 
 272 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 will that he should die !" she exclaimed, raising- 
 her hands in an attitude of supplication. 
 " And there's that other dreadful trouble — 
 that awful doubt — about poor Anthony !" 
 
 Descending the stairs, she opened the door 
 of the red parlour, and entered on a scene of 
 turbulence. Miss Flora was in one of her 
 most spiteful and provoking humours. She 
 was trying to kick Ethel, who held her at 
 arms' length. Her pretty face was inflamed, 
 her pretty hair hung wild^ — and Flora's face 
 and hair were both as pretty as they could 
 well be. 
 
 " Flora !" said Miss Castlemaine, advancing 
 to the rescue. " Flora, for shame ! Unless 
 I had seen you in this passion, I had not be- 
 lieved it." 
 
 " I 'ojill kick her, then ! It's through her 
 I did not go with mamma in the carriage to 
 Stilborough." 
 
 " It was mamma who would not take you," 
 said Ethel. " She said she had some private 
 business there, and did not want you with 
 her." 
 
 " She would have taken me : you know 
 she would ; but for your telling her I had not 
 done my French exercise, you ugly, spiteful 
 thing."
 
 INSIDE THE NUNNERY, 273 
 
 " Mamma asked me whether you had done 
 it, and I said no." 
 
 " And you ought to have said yes ! You 
 ill-natured, wicked, interfering dromedary !" 
 
 ** Be still. Flora," interposed Miss Castle- 
 maine. " Unless you are, I will call your 
 papa. How can you so forget yourself?" 
 
 " Yoti have no business to interfere, Mary 
 Ursula ! The house is not yours ; you are 
 only staying in it." 
 
 " True," said Miss Castlemaine, calmly. 
 *' And I shall not be very much longer in it. 
 Flora. I am going away soon." 
 
 " I shall be glad of that," retorted the rude 
 child; "and I'm sure mamma will be. She 
 says it is a shame that you should be let take 
 up the best bedroom." 
 
 " Oh, Flora !" interposed Ethel. 
 
 " And she says " 
 
 What further revelations the damsel might 
 be contemplating, in regard to her mother, 
 were summarily cut short. Harry Castle- 
 maine had entered in time to hear what she 
 was saying, and he quietly lifted her from the 
 room. Outside he treated her to what she 
 dreaded, though it was not often she got it 
 from him — a severe shakinof — and she ran 
 away howling. 
 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 ,274 THE MASTER OF GREVLANDS. 
 
 " She Is being ruined," said Harry. " Mrs. 
 Castlemaine never corrects her, or allows her 
 to be corrected. I wish my father would 
 take it seriously in hand ! She ought to be at 
 school." 
 
 Peace restored, Mary told them what she 
 had just been telling Mr. Castlemaine. She 
 was about to become a Grey Sister. Harry 
 laughed : he did not believe a syllable of it ; 
 Ethel, more clear-sighted, burst into tears. 
 
 " Don't, don't leave us !" she whispered, 
 clinging to Mary in her astonishment and dis- 
 tress. " You see what my life is here ! I 
 am without love, without sympathy. I have 
 only my books and my music and my draw- 
 ings and the sea ! but for them my heart 
 would starve. Oh, Mary ; it has been so 
 different since you came : I have had you to 
 love. 
 
 Mary Ursula put her arm round Ethel. 
 She herself, standing in so much need of 
 love, had felt the tender affection of this fresh 
 young girl, already entwining itself around 
 her heart, as the grateful tree feels the tendrils 
 of the clinging vine. 
 
 " You will be \yhat I shall most regret in 
 leaving Greylands' Rest, Ethel. But, my 
 dear, we can meet constantly. You can see
 
 INSIDE THE NUNNERY. 2-]^ 
 
 me at the Nunnery when yon will ; and I 
 shall come here sometimes." 
 
 " Look here, Mary Ursula," said Harry, 
 all his lightness checked. " Sooner than you 
 should go to that old Nunnery, I'll burn it 
 down." 
 
 "No, you will not, Harry." 
 
 " I will. The crazy old building won't be 
 much loss to the place, and the ruins would be 
 picturesque." 
 
 He was so speaking only to cover his real 
 concern. The project was no less displeasing 
 to him than to his father. 
 
 " You do not mean this, Mary Ursula !" 
 But the grave look of her earnest face effect- 
 ually answered him. 
 
 " It is I who shall miss you," bewailed 
 Ethel. •' Oh, can nothing be done ?" 
 
 " Nothing," said Mary, smiling. " Our 
 paths, Ethel, will probably lie far apart in 
 life. You will marry, and social ties will 
 form about you. I " she broke off sud- 
 denly. 
 
 '' I intend to marry Ethel myself," said 
 Harry, kicking back a large live coal that flew 
 far out into the hearth. 
 
 " Be quiet, Harry," said Ethel, a shade of 
 annoyance in her tone. 
 
 18—2
 
 276 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 " Why, you know it's true," he returned,, 
 without looking at her. 
 
 " True ' When we are like brother and 
 sister !" 
 
 Miss Castlemaine o-lanced from one to 
 the other. She did not know how to take 
 this. That Harry liked Ethel and was in 
 the habit of paying her attention, told no- 
 thing ; for he did the same by many other 
 young ladies. 
 
 " It was only last week I asked her to fix 
 the day," said Harry. 
 
 " And I told you to go and talk nonsense 
 elsewhere ; not to me," retorted Ethel, her 
 tone betraying her real vexation. 
 
 *' If you won't have me, Ethel, you'll drive 
 me to desperation. I might go off and marry 
 one of the Grey Sisters in revenge. It should 
 be Sister Ann. She is a charming picture \ 
 one to take a young man's heart by storm." 
 
 Mary Ursula looked keenly at him. In 
 all this there was a semblance of something 
 not real. It struck her that he was wanting 
 to fnake it appear he wished for Ethel, when 
 in fact he did not. 
 
 ** Harry," she cried, speaking upon impulse, 
 "you have not, I hope, been falling in love 
 with anybody undesirable ?"
 
 INSIDE THE NUNNERY. 277 
 
 " But I have," said Harry, his face flushing. 
 " Don't I tell you who it is ? — Sister Ann. 
 Mark you though, cousin mine, you shall 
 never be allowed to make one of those Grey 
 Sisters." 
 
 " You are very random, you know, Harry," 
 said Miss Castlemaine, slowly. " You talk to 
 young ladies without meaning anything — but 
 they may not detect that. Take care you do 
 not go too far some day, and find yourself in 
 a mesh." 
 
 Harry Castlemaine turned his bright face 
 on his cousin. " I never talk seriously but 
 to one person, Mary Ursula. And that's 
 Ethel." 
 
 '' Harry," cried the young girl, with flash- 
 ing eyes, " you are not fair to me." 
 
 " And now have you any commands for the 
 Commodore ?" went on Harry lightly, and 
 takinof no notice of Ethel's rebuke. " I am 
 going to the Hutt." 
 
 They said they had none ; and he left the 
 room. Mary turned to Ethel. 
 
 " My dear — if you have no objection to 
 confide in me — is there anything between you 
 and Harry ?" 
 
 " Nothing, Mary," was the answer, and 
 Ethel blushed the soft blush of girlish modesty
 
 27S THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 as she said It. " Last year he teased me very- 
 much, making me often angry ; but latterly he 
 has been better. The idea of my marrying 
 him ! — when we have grown up together like 
 brother and sister ! It would seem hardly 
 proper. I like Harry very much indeed as a 
 brother ; but as to marrying him, why, I'd 
 
 rather never be married at all. Here's the 
 
 carriage coming back ! Mamma must have 
 forgotten something." 
 
 Mrs. Castlemaine's carriage was seen wind- 
 ing round the drive. They heard her get 
 out at the door and hold a colloquy with 
 Flora. She came to the red parlour looking 
 angry. 
 
 " Where's Harry ?" she demanded, in the 
 sharp, unkindly tones that so often grated on 
 the ear of those offending her, as she threw 
 her eyes round the room. 
 
 " Harry is not here, mamma," replied 
 Ethel. 
 
 " I understood he was here," suspiciously 
 spoke Mrs. Castlemaine. 
 
 " He went out a minute or two ago," said 
 Ethel. " I think he is gone to Commodore 
 Teague's." 
 
 " He is like an eel," was the pettish re- 
 joinder. "You never know when you have him.
 
 INSIDE THE NUNNERY. 279 
 
 As to that vulgar, gossiping old Teague, that 
 they make so much of and are always running 
 after, I can't think what they see in him." 
 
 " Perhaps it is his gossip that they like,'* 
 suggested Ethel, 
 
 " Well, I want Harry. He has been beat- 
 insf Flora." 
 
 " I don't think he beat her, marnma." 
 
 "Oh, you great story-teller!" exclaimed 
 Flora, putting in her head. "He shook me 
 till all my bones rattled." 
 
 Mrs. Castlemaine shut the door with a click. 
 And the next that they saw, was Miss Flora 
 dressed in her best and going off with her 
 mamma in the carriage. 
 
 " With this injudicious treatment the child 
 has hardly a chance to become better," 
 murmured Mary Ursula. " Ethel, have you 
 a mind for a walk ?" 
 
 " Yes : with you." 
 
 They dressed themselves and started for 
 the village, walking lightly over the crisp 
 snow, under the clear blue sky. Miss Castle- 
 maine was bound for the Grey Nunnery ; 
 Ethel, protesting she would do no act or 
 part towards helping her to enter it, went off 
 to see some of the fishermen's wives on the 
 cliff
 
 28o 777^ MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 Passing through the outer gate, Mary 
 Ursula rang at the bell, and was admitted by 
 Sister Phoeby. A narrow passage took her 
 into the hall. Opening from it on the left 
 hand was a moderate-sized room, plain and 
 comfortable. It was called the reception 
 parlour, but was the one usually sat in by the 
 Grey Ladies : in fact, they had no other 
 sitting-room that could be called furnished. 
 Dinner was taken in a bare bleak room, look- 
 ing to the sea ; it was used also as the 
 school-room, and contained chiefly a large 
 table and some forms. Miss Castlemaine was 
 shown into the reception parlour. Two of 
 the ladies were in it : Sister Margaret writing, 
 Sister Betsey making lint. 
 
 An indication of Miss Castlemaine's wish 
 to join the Sisters had already reached the 
 Nunnery, and they knew not how to make 
 enough of her. It had caused quite a com- 
 motion of delight. To number a Castlemaine 
 amidst them, especially one so much esteemed, 
 so high and grand and good as the banker's 
 daughter, was an honour hardly to be believed 
 in ; the small fortune she would bring seemed 
 like riches in itself, and they coveted the 
 companionship of the sweet and gentle lady 
 for their own sakes. Her joining them would
 
 INSIDE THE NUNNERY. 28 r 
 
 swell the number of the community to 
 thirteen ; but no reason existed against 
 that. 
 
 Sister Margaret put down her pen, Sister 
 Betsey her linen, as their visitor entered. 
 They gave her the one arm-chair by the fire 
 — Sister Mildred's own place — and Mary put 
 back her crape veil as she sat down. Calm, 
 quiet, good, looked the ladies in their simple 
 grey gowns, their hair smoothly braided under 
 the white cap of worked muslin ; and Mary 
 Ursula seemed to feel a foretaste of peace in 
 the time when the like dress, the like serene 
 life, would be hers. The Superior Sisters 
 came flocking in on hearing she was there ; 
 all were present save Sister Mildred : Mar- 
 garet, Charlotte, Betsey, Grizzel, and Mona. 
 The working Sisters were Phoeby, Ann, 
 Rachel, Caroline, Lettice, and Ruth. 
 
 The ladies hastened to tell Miss Castle- 
 maine of a hope, or rather project, they had 
 been entertaining — namely, that when she 
 joined the community, she should become its 
 head. Sister Mildred, incapacitated by her 
 long illness, had long wished to resign con- 
 trol ; and would have done so before, but 
 that Sister Margaret, on whom it ought to 
 •descend, declined to take it. Miss Castle-
 
 282 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 maine sat in doubt : the proposal came upon 
 her by surprise. 
 
 " I do all the writing that has to be done, 
 and keep the accounts ; and you see that's all 
 I'm good for," said Sister Margaret to Miss 
 Castlemaine, in a tone of confidence. " If I 
 were put in Sister Mildred's place, and had to 
 order this and decide that, I should be* lost. 
 Why, if they came and asked me whether the 
 dinner for the day should consist of fresh 
 herrings, or pork and pease-pudding, I should 
 never know which to say." 
 
 " Sister Mildred may regain her health," 
 observed Miss Castlemaine. 
 
 " But she'll never regain her hearing," 
 put in Sister Grizzel, a little quick, fresh- 
 coloured, talkative woman. " And that 
 tells very much against her as Superioress. 
 In fact, her continuing as such is like a 
 farce." 
 
 " Besides, she herself wants to give it up," 
 said Sister Charlotte. " Oh, Miss Castle- 
 maine, if you would but accept it in her place! 
 You would make us happy." 
 
 Mary Ursula said she must take time for 
 consideration. She was invited to go up to 
 Sister Mildred, who would be sure to think it 
 a slight if she did not. So she was conducted
 
 INSIDE THE NUNNERY. 28s 
 
 Upstairs by the ladies, Charlotte and Mona, 
 and found herself in a long, dark, narrow 
 corridor which had doors on either side — the 
 nuns' cells of old. The Head Sister's room 
 was at the extreme end^ — a neat, little chamber, 
 whose casement looked on to the sea, with a 
 small bed in a corner. Sister Mildred was 
 dressed and sat by the fire. She was a 
 fair-complexioned, pleasant-looking, talkative 
 woman, slightly deformed, and past fifty, but 
 still very light and active. Of her own 
 accord, she introduced the subject of resigning 
 her post to Miss Castlemaine, and pressed 
 her urgently to take it. 
 
 " The holding it has become a trouble to 
 me, my dear," she said. " Instead of lying 
 here at peace with nothing to think of — and 
 some days I can't get up at all — I am being 
 referred to perpetually. Sister Margaret re- 
 fuses to take it ; she says she's of more good 
 for writing and account keeping. As to Sister 
 Charlotte, she is always amid the little ones 
 in the school ; she likes teaching — and so 
 there it is. Your taking it, my dear, would 
 solve a difficulty ; and we could hardly let 
 one, bearing the honoured name of Castle- 
 maine, be among us, and not be placed at our 
 head."
 
 284 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 " You may get better ; you may regain 
 your health," said Mary. 
 
 " And, please God, I shall," cheerfully re- 
 turned Sister Mildred, when she could be 
 made to comprehend the remark. "Mr. 
 Parker tells me so. But I shall be none the 
 more competent for my post. My deafness 
 has become so much worse since health failed 
 that that of itself unfits me for it. The Sisters 
 will tell you so. Why, my dear, you don't 
 know the mistakes it leads to. I hear just 
 the opposite of what's really said, and give 
 orders accordingly. Sister Margaret wrote a 
 letter and transacted some business all wrong 
 through this, and it has caused ever so much 
 trouble to set it to rights. It is mortifying to 
 her and to me." 
 
 " To all of us," put in Sister Charlotte. 
 
 " Why, my dear Miss Castlemaine, just 
 look at my facility for misapprehension ! Only 
 the other day," continued the Superioress, who 
 dearly loved a gossip when she could get it, 
 " Sister Ann came running up here in a flurry, 
 her eyes sparkling, saying Parson Marston 
 was below. ' What, below then ?' I asked. 
 ' Yes,' she said, ' below then,' and ran off 
 again. I wondered what could have brought 
 the parson here, for we don't see him at the
 
 INSIDE THE NUNNERY. 285 
 
 Nunnery from year's end to year's end, but 
 was grateful to him for thinking of us, and 
 felt that I ought to get down, if possible, to 
 receive and thank him. So I turned out of 
 bed and scuffled into my petticoats, slipping 
 on my best gown and a new cap, and down 
 stairs I went. Would you believe it, my 
 dear young lady, that it was not Parson Mar- 
 ston at all, but a fine sucking pig !" 
 
 Mary could not avoid a laugh. 
 
 " A beautiful sucking-pig, that lasted us 
 two days when cooked. It came, a present, 
 from Farmer Watson, good, grateful man, 
 whose little boy Sister Mona went to nurse 
 through a fever. I had mistaken what she 
 said, you see, and got up for nothing. But 
 that's the way it is with me ; and the sooner 
 I am superseded by somebody who can hear, 
 the better." 
 
 " I have said lately that you ought to 
 change your room," cried Sister Margaret to 
 her. " In this one you are sometimes ex- 
 posed to a sharp breeze." 
 
 " Cheese ?" returned the deaf lady, mis- 
 taking the word. *' Bread and cheese ! By 
 all means order it into the parlour if Miss 
 Castlemaine would like some. Dear me, I 
 am very remiss !"
 
 286 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 " No, no," returned Sister Margaret, laugh- 
 ing at the mistake, and speaking in her ear, 
 " I only suggested it might be better for your 
 deafness if you exchanged this room for a 
 warmer one : one on the other side." 
 
 " Is that all ! Then why did you mention 
 cheese ? No, no ; I am not going to change 
 my room. I like this one, this aspect ; the sea 
 is as good to me as a friend. And what does 
 Miss Castlemaine say ?" 
 
 Mary stood at the casement window. The 
 grand, expansive sea lay below and around. " 
 She could see nothing else. An Indiaman 
 was sailing majestically in the distance ; on 
 the sails of one of the fishing boats, dotting 
 the surface nearer, some frosted snow had 
 gathered and was sparkling in the sunshine. 
 There she stood, reflecting. 
 
 " For the sake of constantly enjoying this 
 scene of wondrous beauty, it would be almost 
 worth while to come, let alone other induce- 
 ments !" she exclaimed mentally in her en- 
 thusiasm. " As to acceding to their wish of 
 taking the lead, I believe it is what I should 
 like, what I am fitted for," 
 
 And when she quitted Sister Mildred's 
 room she left her promise of acceptation 
 within it.
 
 INSIDE THE NUNNERY. 287 
 
 Meanwhile an unpleasant adventure had 
 just happened to Ethel. Her visits to the 
 wives of the fishermen on the cliff concluded, 
 and seeing no sign yet of Mary Ursula's leaving 
 the Nunnery, she thought she would make a 
 call on Mrs. Bent, and wait there : which, in 
 truth, she was rather fond of doing. But to- 
 day she arrived at an inopportune moment. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bent were enjoying a dispute. 
 
 It appeared that a letter had been delivered 
 at the inn that morning, addressed to Anthony 
 Castlemaine : the third letter that had come 
 for him since his disappearance. The two 
 first bore the postmark of Gap, this one the 
 London postmark, and all were addressed in 
 the same handwriting. Mrs, Bent had urged 
 her husband to hand over the others to the 
 Master of Greylands : she was now urging 
 the like as to this one. John Bent, though 
 in most matters under his wife's finger and 
 thumb, had wholly refused to listen to her in 
 this : he should keep the letters in his own 
 safe custody, he said, until the writer, or some 
 one of Mr. Anthony's connexions from over 
 the water, appeared to claim them. Mrs. 
 Bent was unable to stir his decision : since 
 the fatal night connected with the Friar's 
 Keep, she could but notice that John had
 
 288 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 altered. He was more silent than of yore ; 
 yielded to her less, and maintained his own 
 will better : which was, of course, not an agree- 
 able change to Mrs. Bent. 
 
 They were in their ordinary room, facing the 
 sea. The door stood open as usual, but a 
 screen of two folds now intervened between 
 the fire-place and the draught. John sat in 
 his carved elbow-chair ; Mrs. Bent stood by, 
 folding clothes at the table ; which was drawn 
 near the fire from its place under the window. 
 
 " I tell you, then, John Bent, you might be 
 taken up and prosecuted for it," she said, 
 sprinkling the linen so vigorously that some 
 splashes went on his face. " Keeping other 
 people's letters !" 
 
 " The letters are directed here, to my house, 
 Dorothy woman ; and I shall keep them till 
 some proper person turns up to receive them," 
 was John's answer, delivered without irritation 
 as he wiped his face with his pocket-handker- 
 chief. 
 
 " The proper person is Mr. Castlemaine. 
 Just take your elbow away : you'll be upset- 
 ting the basin. He is the young man's 
 uncle." 
 
 " Now look here, wife. You've said that 
 before, and once for all I tell you I'll not do
 
 INSIDE THE NUNNERY. 289 
 
 it. Mr. Castlemaine is the last person In the 
 world I'd hand the letters to. What would 
 he do with them ? — Put 'em in the fire, I dare 
 be bound. If, as I believe ; I believe it to 
 my very heart ; Mr. Castlemaine took his 
 nephew's life that night in the Friar's 
 Keep " 
 
 " Hist !" said Mrs. Bent, the rosy colour on 
 her face fading as a sound caught her ear ; 
 *' hist, man !" 
 
 And, for once, more alarmed than angry, 
 she looked behind the screen, and found her- 
 self face to face with Ethel Reene. 
 
 " Mercy be good to us !" she exclaimed, 
 seeing by the young lady's white face that they 
 had been overheard. And, scarcely knowing 
 what she did, she dragged the horror-stricken 
 girl round to the hearth, before John. 
 
 " Now you've done it !" she cried, turning 
 upon him. " You'd better pack up and be off 
 to jail : for if Miss Ethel tells the Master of 
 Greylands what she has heard, he'll put you 
 there." 
 
 " No, he won't," said John, full of contrition 
 for the mischief he had done, but nevertheless 
 determined not to eat his words, and believing 
 the suspicion must have reached the young 
 lady sooner or later. 
 
 VOL. 1. 19
 
 290 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 " You cannot think this of papa !" said 
 Ethel, sinking into a chair. 
 
 " Well, Miss Ethel, it is a great mystery, as 
 you must know," said the landlord, who had 
 risen. " I think the Master of Greylands could 
 solve it if he liked." 
 
 " But — but, Mr. Bent, what you said is most 
 dreadful !" 
 
 " I'm heartily sorry you chanced to over- 
 hear it, Miss Ethel. There's no cause to 
 wink at me like that, wife. The words are 
 said, and I cannot unsay them." 
 
 " But — do — you — believe it ?" gasped 
 Ethel. 
 
 " Yes, he does believe it," burst forth Mrs. 
 Bent, losing sight of prudence in her anger 
 apfainst her husband. " If he does not oet 
 into some awful trouble one of these days 
 through his tongue, his name's not John 
 
 Bent. And there's Miss Castlemaine of 
 
 Stilborough crossing over the road !" 
 
 Not less overcome by terror and dismay 
 than Mrs. Bent had been by anger, Ethel 
 rushed out of the house and burst into a storm 
 of hysterical sobs. Mary Ursula, wondering 
 much and full of concern, drew her arm within 
 her own and went over to the little solitary 
 bench that stood by the sea.
 
 INSIDE THE NUNNERY 291 
 
 " Now, my dear, tell me what this means," 
 she said, as they sat down. 
 
 But Ethel hesitated : it was not a thins- to 
 be told to Miss Castlemaine. She stammered 
 an incoherent word or two between her sobs, 
 and at the best was indistinct. 
 
 " I understand, Ethel. Be calm. John 
 Bent has been makingr a terrible charee 
 against my Uncle James." 
 
 Ethel clung to her. She admitted that it 
 was so : telling how she had unintentionally 
 overheard the private conversation between 
 the landlord and his wife. She said it had 
 frightened and confused her, though she did 
 not believe it. 
 
 " Neither do I believe it," returned Miss 
 Castlemaine calmly. " I heard this some 
 time ago — I mean the suspicion that is rife in 
 Greylands — but I am sorry that you should 
 have been startled with it. That my uncle is 
 incapable of anything of the kind — and only 
 to have to say as much of refutation seems a 
 cruel insult on him — I am perfectly sure of; 
 and I am content to wait the elucidation that 
 no doubt time will bring." 
 
 "But how wicked of John Bent!" cried 
 Ethel. 
 
 " Ethel, dear, I have gone through so much 
 
 19 — 2
 
 292 THE MASTER OF CREYLANDS, 
 
 t 
 
 misery of late that It has stibdtied me, and I 
 think I have learnt the great precept not to 
 judge another," said Mary Ursula sadly. " I 
 do not blame John Bent. I respect him. 
 That a strange mystery does encompass the 
 doings of that February night — so fatal for me 
 as well as for poor Anthony — I cannot ignore : 
 and I speak not now of the disappearance 
 only. There's reason in what John Bent 
 says — that Mr. Castlemaine is not open about 
 it, that it might be fancied he knows more 
 than he will say. It is so. Perhaps he will 
 not speak because it might implicate some 
 one — not himself, Ethel ; never himself ; I do 
 not fear that." 
 
 " No, no," murmured Ethel. 
 
 " It is Mr. Castlemaine's pride, I think, 
 that prevents his speaking. He must have 
 heard these rumours, and naturally resents 
 them " 
 
 " Do you think Anthony is really dead ?" 
 interrupted Ethel. 
 
 " I have never had any hope from the first 
 that he is not. Now and then my imagination 
 runs away with me and suggests he may be 
 here, he may be there, he may have done this 
 or done that — but of real hope, that he is 
 alive, I have none. Next to the death of my
 
 INSIDE THE NUNNERY. 293 
 
 dear father, it has been the greatest weight I 
 have had to bear. I saw him but once, 
 Ethel, but I seemed to take to him as to a 
 brother. I am sure he was honourable and 
 generous, a o-ood man and a sfentleman." 
 
 " You know what they are foolish enough 
 to say here ?" breathed Ethel. " That the 
 ghost of the Grey Friar, angry at his precincts 
 being invaded " 
 
 ** Hush !" reproved Miss Castlemaine.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MADAME GUISE. / 
 
 T was the afternoon of this same 
 day. The stage-coach, delayed by 
 the snow, was very late when it 
 was heard approaching. Its four 
 well-fed horses drew up at the Dolphin Inn, 
 to set down Mr. Nettleby. The superin- 
 tendent of the coast-guard, who had been on 
 some business a mile or two inland, had 
 availed himself of the coach for returning. 
 John Bent and his wife came running to the 
 door. The guard, hoping, perhaps, for six- 
 pence or a shilling gratuity, descended from 
 his seat, and was extending a hand to help 
 the officer down from the roof, when he 
 found himself called to by a lady inside, who 
 had been reconnoitring the inn, and the 
 flaming dolphin on its sign-board.
 
 AfADAME GUISE, 2C)^ 
 
 " What place Is this, guard ?" 
 
 " Greylands, ma'am." 
 
 " That seems a good hotel." 
 
 " It is a nice comfortable inn, ma'am." 
 
 " I will get out here. Please see to my 
 luggage." 
 
 The guard was surprised. He thought 
 the lady must have made a mistake. 
 
 " This is not Stilborough, ma'am. You 
 are booked to Stilborous^h." 
 
 " But I will not go on to Stilborough : I 
 will descend here instead. See my poor 
 child" — showing the hot face of a little girl 
 who lay half asleep upon her knee. " She 
 has, I fear, the fever coming on, and she is so 
 fatigued. This must be a healthy place ; it 
 has the sea, I perceive ; and I think she shall 
 rest here for a day or two before going on." 
 
 The landlord and his wife had heard this 
 colloquy, for the lady spoke at the open win- 
 dow. They advanced, and the guard threw 
 wide the door. 
 
 " Will you carry my little one ?" said the 
 lady to Mrs. Bent. " I fear she is going to 
 be ill, and I do not care to take her on farther. 
 Can I be accommodated with a good apart- 
 ment here ?" 
 
 " The best rooms we have, ma'am, are at
 
 296 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 your service ; and you will find them excel- 
 lent, though I say it myself," returned Mrs. 
 Bent, receiving the child into her arms. 
 
 " Marie fatiguee," plaintively called out the 
 little thing, who seemed about three years 
 old. " Marie ne pent marcher." 
 
 The lady reassured her in the same lan- 
 guage, and alighted. She was a tall, lady-like- 
 young woman of apparently some six-and- 
 twenty years, with soft, fair hair, and a plea- 
 sing face that wore signs of care, or weari- 
 ness ; or perhaps both. Mrs. Bent carried 
 the child into the parlour ; John followed' 
 with a large hand-reticule made of plaited 
 black-and-white straw, and the guard put two 
 trunks in the passage, a large one and a small 
 one. 
 
 " I am en voyage," said the lady, address- 
 ing Mrs. Bent — and it may be remarked 
 that, though speaking English with fluency,, 
 and with very little foreign accent, she now 
 and then substituted a French word, or a 
 whole sentence, as though the latter were 
 more familiar to her in everyday life — and of 
 which John Bent and his wife did not under- 
 stand a syllable. " But we have voyaged far, 
 and the sea-crossing was frightfully rough,, 
 and I fear I have brought my little one on
 
 MADAME GUISE. 297 
 
 too quickly : so it may be well to halt here 
 for a short time, and keep her quiet. I hope 
 your hotel is not crowded with company ?" 
 
 " There's nobody at all staying in it just 
 now, ma'am," said Mrs. Bent. "We don't 
 have many indoor visitors at the winter 
 season." 
 
 " And this snow is not good," said the 
 stranger ; " I mean not good for voyagers. I 
 might have put off my journey had I thought 
 it would come. When I left my home, the 
 warm spring sun was shining, the trees were 
 budding." 
 
 " We have had fine warm weather here, 
 too," said Mrs. Bent ; " it changed again a 
 week aeo to winter : not but what we had the 
 sun out bright to-day. This dear little thing 
 seems delicate, ma'am." 
 
 " Not generally. But she is fatigued, you 
 see, and has a touch of fever. We must 
 make her some tisane." 
 
 " We'll soon get her right again," said Mrs. 
 Bent, gently ; for with children, of whom she 
 was very fond, she lost all her sharpness. 
 " Poor little lamb ! And so you've come 
 from over the water, ma'am ! — and the sea 
 was roueh ! — and did this little one suffer ?" 
 
 " Oh, pray do not talk of that terrible sea I
 
 29S THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 I thought I must have died. To look at, 
 nothing more beautiful ; but to be on it — ah, 
 Ciel !" 
 
 She shuddered and shruofoed her shoulders 
 with the recollection. There was something 
 peculiarly soft and winning in the quiet tones 
 of her voice ; something attractive altogether 
 in her features and their sad expression. 
 
 " I never was on the sea, thank goodness," 
 said Mrs. Bent ; " I have heard it's very bad. 
 We get plenty of it as far as the looks go : 
 and that's enough for us, ma'am. Many an 
 invitation I've had in my life to go off sailing 
 in people's boats — but no, not for me. One 
 knows one's safe on land." 
 
 She had sat down, the child on her lap, 
 and was taking^ off its blue woollen hood and 
 warm woollen pelisse of fleecy grey cloth. 
 The frock underneath was of fine black 
 French merino. The lady wore the same 
 kind of black dress under her cloak : it was 
 evident that both were in mourning. Hap- 
 pening to look up from the semi-sleeping 
 child, Mrs. Bent caught the traveller's eyes 
 fixed attentively upon her, as if studying her 
 face. 
 
 " How do you call this village, I was about 
 to ask. Grey -"
 
 MADAME GUISE. 299 
 
 " Greylands, ma'am. Stilborough is about 
 three miles off. Are you going there ?" 
 
 " Not to stay," said the lady, hastily. " I 
 am come to England to see a relative, but 
 my progress is not in any hurry. I must 
 think first of my child : and this air seems 
 good." 
 
 " None so good for miles and miles," re- 
 turned Mrs. Bent. " A week of it will make 
 this little lady quite another child. Pretty 
 thing ! What beautiful eyes !" 
 
 The child had woke up again in her rest- 
 lessness ; she was gazing up at her strange 
 nurse with wide-open, dark-brown eyes. They 
 were not her mother's eyes, for those were 
 blue. The hot little face was becoming paler. 
 
 " I must make her some tisane," repeated 
 the lady; "or show you how to make it. You 
 have herbs, I presume. We had better get 
 her to bed. Nothino- will do her so much 
 good as rest and sleep. Will Marie go to 
 bed ?" she said, addressing the little girl. 
 
 " Oui," replied the child, who appeared to 
 understand English, but would not speak it. 
 *' Marie sommeil," she added in her childish 
 patois, " Marie soif Maman, donne Marie 
 a boire." 
 
 " Will )ou take her, ma'am, for a few mo-
 
 300 THE MASTER OF GRE YLANDS. 
 
 ments ?" said Mrs. Bent, placing her in the 
 mother's arms. " I will see after your room 
 and make it ready." 
 
 The landlady left the parlour. The child, 
 feverish and weary, soon began to cry. Her 
 mother hushed her ; and presently, not wait- 
 ing for the reappearance of the landlady, 
 carried her upstairs. 
 
 Which was the chamber ? she wondered, on 
 reaching the landing : but the half-open door 
 of one, and some stir within, guided her 
 thoughts to it, as the right. Mrs. Bent was 
 bustling about it ; and the landlord, who ap- 
 peared to have been taking up the trunks, 
 stood just inside the door. Some kind of dis- 
 pute seemed to be going on, for Mrs. Bent's 
 tones were shrill. The lady halted, not liking 
 to intrude, and sat down on a short bench 
 against the wall ; the child, dozing again, was. 
 heavy for her, 
 
 " As if there was not another room in the 
 house, but you must make ready this one !" 
 John was saying in a voice of vexed remon- 
 strance. " I told you, Dorothy, I'd never 
 have this chamber used again until we had 
 not space left elsewhere. What are you going 
 to do with the things ?" 
 
 " Now don't you fret yourself to fiddle-
 
 MADAME GUISE. 301 
 
 strlnq^s," retorted Mrs. Bent. " I am putting 
 all the things into this linen- basket; his clothes 
 and his litde desk and all, even the square of 
 scented soap he used, for he brought it with 
 him in his portmanteau. They shall go into 
 the small chest in our bedroom, and be locked 
 up. And you may put a seal upon the top 
 of it for safety." 
 
 "But I did not wish to have the things dis- 
 turbed at all," urged John. " The lady might 
 have had another room." 
 
 " The tap-room is your concern, the care of 
 the chambers is mine, and I choose her to 
 have this one," said independent Mrs. Bent. 
 "' As to keeping the best chamber out of use 
 just because these things have remained in it 
 unclaimed, is about as daft a notion as ever I 
 heard of. If you don't take care, John, you'll 
 go crazy over Anthony Castlemaine. 
 
 The mother outside, waiting, and hushing 
 her child to her, had not been paying much 
 attention : but at the last words she started, 
 and gazed at the door. Her lips parted ; her 
 face turned white. 
 
 "Peace, wife," said the landlord. "What 
 I say is right." 
 
 " Yes, crazy," persisted Mrs. Bent, who 
 rarely dropped an argument of her own ac-
 
 302 THE Piaster of greylands. 
 
 cord. "Look at what happened with Miss 
 Ethel Reene to-day ! Vm. sure you are not 
 in your senses on the subject, John Bent, or 
 you'd never be so imprudent. You may be- 
 lieve Mr. Anthony was murdered by his 
 uncle, but it does not do to turn yourself into 
 a town-crier, and proclaim it." 
 
 Oh, more deadly white than before did 
 these words turn the poor lady who was lis- 
 tening. Her face was as the face of one 
 stricken with terror ; her breath came in 
 gasps ; she clutched at her child, lest her 
 trembling hands should let it fall. John Bent 
 and his wife came forth, bearing between them 
 the piled-up clothes-basket, a small mahogany 
 desk on its top. She let her face drop upon 
 her child's and kept it there, as though she 
 too had fallen asleep. 
 
 " Dear me, there's the lady !" whispered 
 John. 
 
 " And it's unbeknown what she has over- 
 heard," muttered Mrs. Bent. " I beg your 
 pardon, ma'am ; you'll be cold sitting there. 
 Had you dropped asleep i*" 
 
 The lady lifted her white face : fortunately 
 the passage was in twilight : she passed a 
 pocket-handkerchief over her brow as she 
 spoke.
 
 MADAME GUISE. 303 
 
 " My little child got so restless that I came 
 up. Is the room ready ?" 
 
 Letting" fall her handle of the basket and 
 leaving her husband to convey it into their 
 chamber as he best could, Mrs. Bent took the 
 child from the speaker's arms and preceded 
 her into the room. A spacious, comfortable 
 chamber, with a fine view over the sea, and a 
 good fire burning up in the grate. 
 
 " We were as quick as we could be," said 
 Mrs. Bent, in apology for having kept her 
 guest waiting; "but I had to empty the chamber 
 first of some articles that were in it. I might 
 have given you another room at once, ma'am, 
 for we always keep them in readiness, you 
 see ; but this is the largest and has the plea- 
 santest look-out ; and I thought if the little 
 girl was to be ill, you'd like it best." 
 
 " Articles belongfino: to a former traveller ?'^ 
 asked the lady, who was kneeling then before 
 her trunk to get out her child's night things. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am. A gentleman we had here 
 a few short weeks ago." 
 
 " And he has left ?" 
 
 "■ Oh yes," replied Mrs. Bent, gently comb- 
 ing back the child's soft brown hair, before 
 she passed the sponge of warm water over 
 her face.
 
 304 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 " But why did he not take his things with 
 him ?" 
 
 " Well, ma'am, he — he left unexpectedly ; 
 and so they remained here." 
 
 Now, in making this somewhat evasive 
 answer, Mrs. Bent had no particular wish to 
 deceive. But, what with the work she had 
 before her, and what with the fretful child on 
 her knee, it was not exactly the moment for 
 entering on gossip. The disappearance of 
 Anthony Castlemaine was too public and po- 
 pular a theme in the neighbourhood for any 
 idea of concealment to be connected with it. 
 The lady, however, thought she meant to 
 evade the subject, and said no more. In- 
 deed, the child claimed all their attention. 
 
 " Marie soif," said the little one, as they 
 put her into bed. " Maman, Marie soif." 
 
 " Thirsty, always thirsty !" repeated the 
 mother in English. " I don't much like it ; 
 it bespeaks fever." 
 
 " I'll get some milk and water," said Mrs. 
 Bent. 
 
 " No, no, not milk," interposed the lady. 
 *' Oui, ma cherie ! A spoonful or two of 
 sugar and water while maman makes the 
 tisane. Madame has herbs, no doubt," she 
 added, turning to the landlady. " I could
 
 MADAME GUISE. 305 
 
 make it soon myself at this good fire if I had 
 a httle casserole : a — what you call it ? — 
 saucepan." 
 
 Mrs. Bent promised the herbs, for she had 
 a store-room full of different kinds, and the 
 saucepan. A little sugared water was given 
 to the child, who lay quiet after drinking it, 
 and closed her eyes. Moving noiselessly 
 about the room, the lady happened to go 
 near the window, and her eye caught the 
 moving sea in the distance, on which some 
 bright light yet lingered. Opening the case- 
 ment window for a moment, she put her head 
 out, and gazed around. 
 
 " The sea is very nice to see, but I don't 
 like to think of being on it," she said as she 
 shut the window. " What is that o-reat build- 
 ing over yonder to the left ?" 
 
 " It's the Grey Nunnery, ma'am." 
 
 " The Grey Nunnery ! What, have you a 
 nunnery here in this little place } I had no 
 idea." 
 
 " It's not a real nunnery," said Mrs. Bent, 
 as she proceeded to explain what it was, in 
 the intervals of folding the child's clothes, 
 and how good the ladies were who inhabited 
 it. " We heard a bit of news about it this 
 afternoon," she added, her propensity for 
 
 VOL. I. 20
 
 3o6 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS, 
 
 talking creeping out. " Sister Ann ran over 
 here to borrow a baking-dish — for their own 
 came in two in the oven with all the baked 
 apples in it — and she said she believed Miss 
 Castlemaine was going to join them as the 
 Lady Superior." 
 
 " Miss — who ?" cried the stranger quickly. 
 
 " Miss Castlemaine. Perhaps, ma'am, you 
 may have heard of the Castlemaines of Grey- 
 lands' Rest. It is close by." 
 
 " I do not know them," said the traveller. 
 " Is, then, a Miss Castlemaine, of Greylands' 
 Rest, the Lady Superior of the Nunnery?" 
 
 " Miss Castlemaine of Stilborough, ma'am. 
 There is no Miss Castlemaine of Greylands' 
 Rest ; save a tiresome little chit of twelve. 
 She has not joined them yet ; it is only in 
 contemplation. Sister Ann was all cock-a- 
 hoop about it : but I told her the young lady^ 
 was too beautiful to hide her head under a 
 muslin cap in a nunnery." 
 
 " It is a grand old building," said the tra- 
 veller, " and must stand out well and nobly 
 on the edge of the cliff. And what a length ! 
 I cannot see the other end." 
 
 " The other end is nearly in ruins — part of 
 it, at least. The chapel quite so. That lies 
 between the Nunnery and the Friar's Keep."
 
 MADAME GUISE. 307 
 
 *' The Friar's Keep !" repeated the bdy. 
 " You have odd names here. But I Hke this 
 village. It is quiet : nobody seems to pass." 
 
 " There's hardly anybody in it to pass, for 
 that matter," cried Mrs. Bent, with disparage 
 ment. "Just the fishermen and the Grey 
 Sisters. But here I am, talking when I 
 ought to be doing ! What would you like to 
 have prepared for dinner, ma'am ?" 
 
 " I could not eat — I feel feverish, too," was 
 the answer given, in an accent that had a 
 ring of piteous wail. " I will take but some 
 tea and a tartine when I have made the 
 tisane." 
 
 Mrs. Bent opened her eyes. " Tea and a 
 tart, did you say, ma'am ?" 
 
 " I said — I mean bread and butter," ex- 
 plained the stranger, translating her French 
 word. 
 
 " And — what name — if I may ask, ma'am ?" 
 continued Mrs. Bent, as a final question. 
 
 " I am Madame Guise." 
 
 " Tea's best, after all, upon a day's travel- 
 ling," were the landlady's final words as she 
 descended the stairs. There she told her 
 husband that the lady had rather a curious 
 name, sounding like Madam Geese. 
 
 The small saucepan and the herbs were 
 
 20 — -2
 
 3o8 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 taken up immediately by Molly, who said she 
 was to stay and help make the stuff, if the 
 lady required her. The lady seemed to be 
 glad of her help, and showed her how to pick 
 the dried leaves from the thicker stalks. 
 
 " Do you have travellers staying here 
 often ?" asked Madame Guise, standing by 
 Molly after she had asked her her name, and 
 doing her own portion of the work. 
 
 " A'most never in winter time," replied 
 Molly — a round-eyed, red-cheeked, strong- 
 looking damsel, attired in a blue linsey skirt 
 and a cotton handkerchief crossed on her 
 neck. " We had a gentleman for a week or 
 two just at the turn o' January. He had this 
 here same bedroom." 
 
 " They were his things, doubtless, that 
 your mistress said she was removing to make 
 space for me." 
 
 "In course they were," replied Molly. 
 " Master said he'd not have this room used — 
 that the coats and things should stay in it : 
 but missis likes to take her own way. This 
 here stalk, mum — is he too big to go in ?" 
 
 " That is : we must have only the little 
 ones. What was the gentleman's name, 
 Mollee r 
 
 " He was young Mr. Castlemaine : a foreign
 
 MADAME GUISE. 309 
 
 gentleman, so to say ; nephew to the one at 
 Greylands' Rest. He came over here to put 
 in his claim to the money and lands." 
 
 " And where did he go ? — where is he 
 now ?" questioned Madame Guise, with an 
 eagerness that might have betrayed her pain- 
 ful interest, had the servant's suspicions been 
 on the alert. 
 
 " It's what my master would just give his 
 head to know," was the answer. "He went 
 into the Friar's Keep one moonlight night, 
 and never come out on't aeain." 
 
 " Never came out of it again !" echoed 
 Madame Guise. " What do you mean ? — ■ 
 How was that ?" 
 
 Bit by bit, Molly revealed the whole story, 
 together with sundry items of the superstition 
 attaching to the Friar's Keep. Very much 
 gratified, was she, at the opportunity of doing 
 it. The tale was encompassed by so many 
 marvels, both of reality and imagination, by 
 so much mystery, by so wide a field of won- 
 der altogether, that others in Greylands, as 
 well as Molly, thought it a red-letter day 
 when they could find strange ears to impart 
 it to. 
 
 Madame Guise sat down in a chair, her 
 hands clasped before her, and forgetting th e
 
 3IO THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 herbs. Molly saw how pale she looked ; and 
 felt prouder than any peacock at her own 
 powers of narration. 
 
 " But what became of him, Mollee ?" ques- 
 tioned the poor lady. 
 
 " Well, mum, that lies in doubt, you see. 
 Some say he was spirited away by the Grey 
 Monk." 
 
 Madame Guise shook her head. " That 
 could not be," she said slowly, and somewhat 
 in hesitation. " I don't like revenants myself 
 — but that could not be." 
 
 *' And others think," added Molly, drop- 
 ping her voice, " that he was done away with 
 by his uncle, Mr. Castlemaine. Master do, 
 for one." 
 
 " Done away with ! How ?" 
 
 " Murdered," said the girl, plunging the 
 herbs into the saucepan of water. 
 
 A shudder took Madame Guise from head 
 to foot. Molly looked round at her : she 
 was like one seized with ague. 
 
 " I am cold and fatigued with my long 
 journey," she murmured, seeking to afford 
 some plausible excuse to the round-eyed girl. 
 " And it always startles one to hear talk of 
 murder." 
 
 " So it do, mum," acquiesced Molly. " I
 
 MADAME GUISE. 311 
 
 dun'no which is worst to hear tell on ; that, 
 or ghosts." 
 
 " But — this Friar's Keep that you talk of, 
 IMollee — it may be that he fell from it by 
 accident into the sea." 
 
 " Couldn't," shortly corrected Molly. 
 " There ain't no way to fall — no opening. 
 They be biling up beautiful, mum." 
 
 "And — was he never — never seen again 
 since that night ?" pursued Madame Guise, 
 casting mechanically a glance on the steam- 
 ing saucepan. 
 
 " Never seen nor heard on," protested 
 Molly emphatically. " His clothes and his 
 portmantel and all his other things have 
 stayed on here ; but he has never come back 
 to claim 'em." 
 
 Madame Guise put her hands on her pallid 
 face, as if to hide the terror there. Molly, 
 her work done, and about to depart, was 
 sweeping the bits of stalks and herbs from 
 the table into her clean check apron. 
 
 " Does the voisinage know all this ?" asked 
 Madame Guise, looking up. " Is it talked of 
 openly } May I speak of it to monsieur and 
 madame en bas— to the host and hostess, I 
 would say ?" 
 
 " Why bless you, mum, yes ! There have
 
 312 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 been nothin^^ else talked of in the place slnce^ 
 Nobody hardly comes in here but what be- 
 gins upon it." 
 
 Molly left with the last words. Madame 
 Guise sat on, she knew not how long, her 
 face buried in her hands, and the tisane was 
 boiled too much. The little girl, soothed 
 perhaps by the murmur of voices, had fallen 
 fast asleep. By-and-by Mrs. Bent came up, 
 to know when her guest would be ready for 
 tea. 
 
 " I am ready now," was the lady's answer, 
 after attending to the tisane. " And I wish 
 that you and your husband, madame, would 
 allow me to take the meal with you this one 
 evening," added Madame Guise, with a slight 
 shiver, as they descended the dark staircase. 
 " I feel lonely and fatigued, and in want of 
 companionship." 
 
 Mrs. Bent was gratified, rather than other- 
 wise, at the request. They descended ; and 
 she caused the tea-tray, already laid in their 
 room, to be carried into the parlour. The 
 same parlour, as the room above was the 
 same bedroom, that had been occupied by 
 the ill-fated Anthony Castlemaine. 
 
 " I hope you are a little less tired than you 
 were when you arrived, madam," said John
 
 MADAME GUISE. 31S 
 
 Bent, bowing, as he with deprecation took 
 his seat at last, and stirred his tea. 
 
 " Thank you, I have been forgetting my 
 fatigue in listening to the story of one Mr. 
 Anthony Castlemaine's disappearance," re- 
 plied Madame Guise, striving to speak with 
 indifference. *' The account is curious, and 
 has interested me. Mollee thought you 
 would give me the particulars." 
 
 " Oh, he'll do that, madam," put in Mrs. 
 Bent sharply. " There's nothing he likes 
 better than talking of thai. Tell it, John." 
 
 John did as he was bid. But his account 
 was in substance the same as Molly's. He 
 could tell neither more nor less : some few 
 additional small details perhaps, some trifling 
 particulars ; but of real information he could 
 give none. The poor lady, hungering after a 
 word of enliohtenment that mifjht tend to 
 lessen her dread and horror, listened for it in 
 vain. 
 
 " But what explanation can be given of 
 it ?" she urged, biting her dry lips to hide 
 their trembling. " People cannot disappear 
 without cause. Are you sure it was Mr. 
 Castlemaine you saw go in at the gate, and 
 thence into the Friar's Keep ?" 
 
 " I am as sure of it, ma'am, as I am that
 
 314 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 this is a tea-cup before me. Mr. Castlemaine 
 denies it, though." 
 
 " And you suspect — you suspect that he 
 murdered him ! That is a frightful word ; I 
 cannot bear to say it. Meurtre !" she re- 
 peated in her own tongue, with a passing 
 shiver. " Quelle chose affreuse ! You sus- 
 pect Mr. Casdemaine, sir, I say ?" 
 
 John Bent shook his head. The encounter 
 with Ethel had taught him caution. '' I don't 
 know, ma'am," he answered ; " I can't say. 
 That the young man was killed in some 
 way, I have no doubt of — and I think 
 Mr. Castlemaine must know something 
 about it." 
 
 " Are there any places in this — what you 
 call it ? — Friar's Keep ? — that he could be 
 concealed in ? Any dungeons ?" 
 
 " He's not there, ma'am. The place is 
 open enough for anybody to go in that likes. 
 Mr. Castlemaine had a man over from Stil- 
 borough to help him search, and they went 
 all about it together, I and Superintendent 
 Nettleby also went over it one day, and some 
 others with us. There wasn't a trace to be 
 seen of young Mr. Anthony ; nothing to show 
 that he had been there." 
 
 " So it resolves itself into this much," said
 
 MADAME GUISE. 315 
 
 Madame Guise — "that you saw this Mr. 
 Anthony Castlemaine go into the dark place, 
 on that February night ; and, so far as can be 
 ascertained, he never came out again." 
 
 "Just that," said John Bent. "I'd give 
 this rieht hand of mine"— -Hftinor }t — " to know 
 Avhat his fate has been. Something tells me 
 that it will be brought to light." 
 
 Madame Guise went up to her room, and 
 sat down there with her heavy burthen of 
 terror and sorrow, wondering what would be 
 the next scene in this strange mystery, and 
 what she herself could best do towards un- 
 ravelling it. Mrs. Bent, coming in by-and-by, 
 found her weeping hysterically. Marie woke 
 up at the moment, and they gave her some of 
 the tisane. 
 
 " It is the reaction of the cold and long 
 journey, ma'am," pronounced Mrs. Bent, in 
 regard to the tears she had seen. " And 
 perhaps the talking about this unaccountable 
 business has startled you. You will be better 
 after a niofht's rest." 
 
 " Yes, the coach was very cold. I will say 
 good-night to you and go to bed." 
 
 As Mrs. Bent retired, the lady sank on her 
 knees by the side of her child, and buried her 
 face in the white counterpane. There she
 
 3i6 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 prayed ; prayed earnestly ; for help fromi 
 Above, for strength to bear. 
 
 " The orood God o^rant that the enlio^hten- 
 ment may be less terrible than are these my 
 fears," she implored, with lifted hands and 
 streaming eyes. 
 
 Back came Mrs. Bent, a wine-glass in one 
 hand, and a hot water bottle for the bed in 
 the other. The glass contained some of her 
 famous cordial — in her opinion a remedy for 
 half the ills under the sun. Madame Guise 
 was then quietly seated by the fire, gazing 
 into it with a far-away look, her hands folded 
 on her lap. She drank the glass of cordial 
 with thanks : though it seemed of no moment 
 what she drank or what she did not drink just 
 then. And little Marie, her cheeks flushed, 
 her rosy lips open sufficiently to show her 
 pretty white teeth, had dropped off to sleep, 
 again.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A STORM OF WIND. 
 
 pHE wind was rising. Coming in 
 gusts from across the sea, it swept 
 round the Dolphin Inn with a force 
 that seemed to shake the old walls 
 and stir the window-panes — for the corner 
 that made the site of the inn was always an 
 exposed one. Madame Guise, undressing 
 slowly by the expiring fire in her chamber, 
 shivered as she listened to it. 
 
 The wind did not howl in this fashion 
 around her own sheltered home in the sunny 
 Dauphine. There was no grand sea there 
 for it to whirl and play over, and come off 
 with a shriekinof moan. Not often there did 
 they get cold weather like this ; or white snow 
 covering the plains ; or ice in the water-jugs. 
 And never yet before in her uneventful life.
 
 3l8 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 had it fallen to her lot to travel all across 
 France from South to North with a little 
 child to take care of, and then to encounter 
 the many hours' passage in a stifling ship on 
 a rough and raging sea : and after a night's 
 rest in London to come off again in the cold 
 English stage-coach for how many miles she 
 knew not. All this might have served to 
 take the colour from her face and to orive the 
 shiverings to her frame — for land travelling 
 in those days was not the easy pastime it is 
 made now. 
 
 But there was worse behind it. Not the 
 cold, not the want of rest, was it, that was so 
 trying to her, but the frightful whispers of a 
 supposed tragedy that had (so to say) greeted 
 her arrival at the Dolphin. But a few hours 
 yet within its walls, and she had been told 
 that him of whom she had come in secret 
 search, her husband, had disappeared out of 
 life. 
 
 For this poor young lady, Charlotte Guise, 
 was in truth the wife of Anthony Castlemaine. 
 His wife if he were still living ; his widow if 
 he were dead. That he was dead, hearing 
 all she had heard, no doubt could exist in her 
 mind ; no hope of the contrary, not the faint- 
 est shadow of it, could enter her heart. She
 
 A STORM OF WIND. 319 
 
 had come all this long journey in search of 
 her husband, fearing some vague treachery ; 
 she had arrived to find that treachery of the 
 deepest dye had only too probably put him 
 out of sio-ht for ever. 
 
 When the father, Basil Castlemaine, was on 
 his death -bed, she had heard the charge he 
 gave to Anthony, to come over to England 
 and put in the claim to his rightful inheritance ; 
 she had heard the warning of possible trea- 
 chery that had accompanied it. 
 
 Basil died. And when Anthony, in obedi- 
 ence to his father's last injunctions, was 
 making ready for the journey to England, his 
 wife recalled the warninof to him. He lauo^hed 
 at her. He answered jokingly : sa}-ing that 
 if he never returned to Gap, she might come 
 off to see the reason, and whether he was 
 still in the land of the living. Ah, how 
 many a word spoken in jest would, if we 
 might read the future, bear a solemn meaning ! 
 That was one. 
 
 Anthony Castlemaine departed on his mis- 
 sion to England, leaving his wife and little 
 child in their home at Gap, The first letter 
 Charlotte received from her husband told her 
 of his arrival at Greylands, and that he had 
 put up at the Dolphin Inn, It intimated that
 
 320 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 he might not find his course a very smooth 
 one, and that his Uncle James was in posses- 
 sion of Greylands' Rest. Some days further 
 on she received a second letter from him ; 
 and following closely upon it, by the next 
 post in fact, a third. Both these letters bore 
 the same date. The first of them stated that 
 he was not advancing at all ; that all kinds of 
 impediments were being placed in his way by 
 his uncles ; they appeared resolved to keep 
 him out of the estate, refusing even to show 
 him how it was left ; and it ended with an 
 expressed conviction that his Uncle James 
 was usurping it. The last letter told her that 
 since posting the other letter earlier in the 
 day, he had seen his Uncle James ; that the 
 interview, which had taken place in a meadow, 
 was an unpleasant one, his uncle even having 
 tried to strike him : that he (Anthony) really 
 did not know what to be at, but had resolved 
 to try for one more conference with his uncle 
 before proceeding to take legal measures, and 
 that he should certainly write to her again in 
 the course of a day or two to tell her whether 
 matters progressed or whether they did not. 
 In this last letter there ran a vein of sadness, 
 very perceptible to the wife. She thought 
 her husband must have been in very bad
 
 A STORM OF IVLXD. 321 
 
 spirits when he wrote it : and she anxiously- 
 looked for the further news promised. 
 
 It never came. No subsequent letter ever 
 reached her. After waiting- some days, she 
 wrote to her husband at the Dolphin Inn, but 
 she got no answer. She wrote again, and 
 with the like result. Then, feeling strangely 
 uneasy, not knowing how to get tidings of 
 him, or to whom to apply, she began to think 
 that she would have to put in practice the 
 suggestion he had but spoken in jest, and go 
 over to England to look after him. A short 
 period of vacillation — for it looked like a 
 frightfully formidable step to the untravelled 
 young lady — and she resolved upon it. Ar- 
 ranging the affairs of her petit menage, as she 
 expressed it, she started off with her child ; 
 and in due time reached London. There she 
 stayed one night, after sending off a note to 
 Greylands, directed to her husband at the 
 Dolphin Inn, to tell of her intended arrival 
 on the following day ; and in the morning she 
 took her seat in the Stilborough coach. 
 These three letters, the two from Gap and the 
 one from London, were those that led to the 
 dispute between Mr. and Mrs. Bent, which 
 Ethel Reene had disturbed. The landlord had 
 them safely locked up in his private archives. 
 
 VOL. I. 21
 
 322 THE MASTER OF GRE YLANDS. 
 
 Forewarned, forearmed, is an old saying. 
 Anthony Castlemaine's wife had been warned, 
 and she strove to be armed. She would not 
 present herself openly and in her own name 
 at Greylands. If the Castlemaine family were 
 dealing hardly with her husband, it would be 
 more prudent for her to go to work warily 
 and appear there at first as a stranger. The 
 worst she had feared was, that Mr. James 
 Castlemaine might be holding her husband 
 somewhere at bay ; perhaps even had put 
 him in a prison — she did not understand the 
 English laws — and she must seek him out 
 and release him. So she called herself Guise 
 as soon as she landed in England. Her name 
 had been Guise before her marriage, and she 
 assumed it now. Not much of an assump- 
 tion : in accordance with the French customs 
 of her native place, she retained her maiden 
 name as an affix to her husband's and her 
 cards were printed, Madame Castlemaine- 
 Guise. Had her assertion of the name 
 wanted confirmation, there it was on the small 
 trunk ; which had Guise studded on it in 
 brass nails, for it had belonged to her father. 
 Her intention had been to proceed to Stil- 
 borough, put up there, and come over to 
 Greylands the following day. But when she
 
 A STORM OF WIND. 323 
 
 found the coach passed through Greylands — 
 which she had not known, and she first 
 recognised the place by the sign of the famous 
 dolphin, about which Anthony had written 
 to her in his first letter — she resolved to alight 
 there, the little girl's symptoms of feverish 
 illness affording a pretext for it. And so, 
 here she was, at the often-heard-of Dolphin Inn, 
 inhabiting the very chamber that her ill-fated 
 husband had occupied, and with the dread 
 story she had listened to beating its terrors 
 in her brain. 
 
 A gust of wind shook the white dimity 
 curtain, drawn before the casement, and she 
 turned to it with a shiver. What did this 
 angry storm of wind mean ? Why should it 
 have arisen suddenly without apparent warn- 
 ing ? Charlotte Guise was rather superstitious, 
 and asked herself the question. When- she 
 got out of the coach at the inn door, the air 
 and sea were calm. Could the angry dis- 
 turbance have come to show her that the 
 very elements were rising at the wrong, dealt 
 out to her husband ? Some such an idea 
 took hold of her. 
 
 " Every second minute I ask whether it 
 can be true," she murmured in her native lan- 
 guage ; "or whether I have but dropped asleep 
 
 2 1 2
 
 324 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 in my own house, and am dreaming it all. It 
 is not like reality. It is not like any story I 
 ever heard before. Anthony comes over 
 here, all those hundreds of weary miles, over 
 that miserable sea, and finds himself amid his 
 family ; his family whom he had never seen. 
 ' Greylands' Rest is mine, I think,' he says to 
 them ; ' will you give it to me ?' And they 
 deny that it is his. ' Then,' says he, ' what 
 you say may be so ; but you should just show 
 me the deeds — the proofs that it is not mine.' 
 And they decline to show them ; and his 
 uncle, James Castlemaine, at an interview in 
 the field, seeks to strike him. Anthony comes 
 home to the hotel here, and writes that last 
 letter to me, and puts it in the post late at 
 night. Then he and the landlord go walking 
 out together in the moonlight, and by-and-by 
 they see Mr. James Castlemaine go into a 
 lonely place of cloisters called the Friar's 
 Keep, and he, my poor husband, runs in after 
 him ; and he never comes out of it again. 
 The host, waiting for him outside, hears a 
 shot and an awful cry, but he does not con- 
 nect it with the cloisters ; and so he prome- 
 nades about till he's weary, thinking the uncle 
 and nephew are talking together, and — and 
 Anthony never at all comes out again ! Yes,
 
 A STORM OF WIND. 325 
 
 it is very plain : it is too plain to me : that 
 shot took my dear husband's life. James 
 Castlemaine, fearincr he would make crood his 
 claim to the estate and turn him out of it, has 
 murdered him." 
 
 The wind shrieked, as if it were singing a 
 solemn requiem ; the small panes of the case- 
 ment seemed to crack, and the white curtain 
 fluttered. Charlotte Guise hid her shrinking 
 face for a moment, and then turned it on the 
 shaking curtain, her white lips parting with 
 some scarcely breathed words. 
 
 "If the spirits of the dead are permitted to 
 hover in the air, as some people believe, 
 perhaps his spirit is here now, at this very 
 window ! Seekino- to hold commune with 
 mine ; calling upon me to avenge him. Oh, 
 Anthony, yes ! I will never rest until I have 
 found out the mystery of your fate. I will 
 devote my days to doing it !" 
 
 As if to encourage the singular fancy, that 
 the whispered story and the surroundings of 
 the hour had called up in her over-stnnig 
 nerves and brain, a gust wilder than any that 
 had gone before swept past the house at the 
 moment with a rushing moan. The case- 
 ment shook ; its fasteninofs seemed to strain : 
 and the poor young lady, in some irrepressible
 
 326 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. . 
 
 freak of courage, born of desperation, drew 
 aside the curtain and looked forth. 
 
 No, no ; nothing was there but the wind. 
 The white snow lay on the ground and 
 covered the cliff that skirted the beach on the 
 right. The night was light, disclosing the 
 foam of the waves as they rose and fell ; 
 clouds were sweeping madly across the face 
 of the sky. 
 
 The little girl stirred in bed and threw out 
 her arms. Her mother let fall the window 
 curtain and softly approached her. The hot 
 face wore its fever-crimson ; the large brown 
 eyes, so like her father's, opened; the red lips 
 parted with a cry. 
 
 " Maman ! Marie soif ; Marie veut boire." 
 
 " Oh, is she fatherless ?" mentally cried the 
 poor mother, as she took up the glass of 
 tisane. " Oui, ma petite ! ma cherie ! Bois 
 done, Marie ; bois !" 
 
 The child seized the glass with her hot and 
 trembling little hands, and drank from it. 
 She seemed very thirsty. Before her mother 
 had replaced it within the fender and come 
 back to her, her pretty face was on the pillow 
 again, her eyes were closing. 
 
 Madame Guise — as we must continue to call 
 her — went to bed : but not to sleep. The
 
 A STORAf OF WIND. 327 
 
 wind raged, the child by her side was restless, 
 her own mind was in a chaos of horror and 
 trouble. The words of the Prophet Isaiah in 
 Holy Writ might indeed have been applied to 
 her : The whole head was sick and the whole 
 heart faint. 
 
 Towards morning she dropped into a dis- 
 turbed sleep, during which a dream visited 
 her. And the dream was certainly a singular 
 one. She thought she was alone in a strange, 
 dark garden : gloomy trees clustered about 
 her, ugly looking mountains rose above. She 
 seemed to be searching for something ; to be 
 obliged to search, but she did not know for 
 what ; a great dread, or terror, lay upon her, 
 and but for being impelled she would not 
 have dared to put one foot before the other in 
 the dark path. Suddenly, as she was pushing 
 through the impeding trees, her husband 
 stood before her. She put out her hand to 
 greet him ; he did not respond to it, but 
 remained where he had halted, a few paces 
 off, gazing at her fixedly. It was not the 
 husband who had parted from her in the 
 sunny South ; a happy man full of glad anti- 
 cipations, with a bright fresh face and joyous 
 words on his lips : but her husband with a 
 sad. stern countenance, pale, cold, and still.
 
 328 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 Her heart seemed to sink within her, and 
 before she could ask him what was amiss she 
 saw that he was holding his waistcoat aside 
 with his left hand, to display a shot in the 
 region of the heart. A most dreadful sensa- 
 tion of terror, far more dreadful than any she 
 could ever know in this life, seized upon her 
 at the sight ; she screamed aloud and awoke. 
 Awoke with the drops of moisture on her 
 face, and trembling in every limb. 
 
 Now, as will be clear to every practical 
 mind, this dream, remarkable though it was, 
 must have been only the result of her own 
 imaginative thoughts, of the tale she had 
 heard, of the fears and doubts she had been 
 indulging before going to sleep. But she, 
 poor distressed, lonely lady, looked upon it as 
 a revelation. From that moment she never 
 doubted that her husband had been shot as 
 described ; shot in the heart and killed : and 
 that the hand that did it was Mr. Castle- 
 maine's. 
 
 " I knew his spirit might be hovering about 
 me," she murmured, trying to still her tremb- 
 ling, as she sat up in bed. " He has been 
 permitted to appear to me to show me the 
 truth — to enjoin on me the task of bringing 
 the deed to light. By Heaven's help I will
 
 A STORM OF WIND. 329 
 
 do it. I will never quit this spot, this Grey- 
 lands, until I have accomplished it. Yes, 
 Anthony ! — can you hear me, my husband ? 
 — I vow to devote myself to the discovery ; 
 I will bring this dark wickedness into the 
 broad glare of noonday. Country, kindred, 
 home, friends! — I will forget them all, 
 Anthony, in my search for you. 
 
 " Where have they hidden him ?" she 
 resumed after a little pause. " Had Mr. 
 Castlemaine an accomplice ? — or did he act 
 alone. Oh, alone ; of a certainty, alone," she 
 continued, answering her own question. " He 
 would not have dared it had others been pre- 
 sent; and the landlord below says Mr, Castle- 
 maine was by himself when he went into the 
 cloisters. Did he fling him into the sea after 
 he was dead ? — or did he conceal him some- 
 where in that place — that Keep ? Perhaps 
 he buried him in it ? if so, his body is lying 
 in unconsecrated ground, and it will never 
 rest. — Marie, then, my little one, what is it ? 
 Are you better this morning ?" 
 
 The child was awaking; with a moan. She 
 had been baptised and registered in her native 
 place as Mary Ursula. Her grandfather, 
 Basil, never called her anything else ; her 
 father would sometimes shorten it to " Marie
 
 330 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 Ursule :" but her mother, not so well accus- 
 tomed to the English tongue as they were, 
 generally used but the one name, Marie. She 
 looked up and put out her little hands to her 
 mother : her eyes were heavy, her cheeks 
 flushed and feverish. 
 
 That the child was worse than she had 
 been the previous night, there could be little 
 question of, and Madame Guise felt some 
 alarm. When breakfast was over — of which 
 meal the child refused to partake, but still 
 complained of thirst — she inquired whether 
 there was a doctor in the place. She asked 
 for him as she would have asked in her own 
 land. Is there a medecin here ? and Mrs. 
 Bent interpreted it as medicine, comprehended 
 that medicine was requested, and rejoiced 
 accordingly. Mrs. Bent privately put down 
 the non-improvement to the tisane. Had a 
 good wholesome powder been administered 
 over night, the child, she believed, would 
 have been all right this morning. 
 
 The doctor, Mr. Parker, came in answer to 
 the summons : a grey-haired, pleasant-speak- 
 ing man. He had formerly been in large 
 practice at Stilborough ; but after a dangerous 
 illness which attacked him there and lasted 
 more than a year, he took the advice of his
 
 A STORM OF WIND. 331 
 
 friends and retired from the fatigues of his 
 profession. His means were sufficient to live 
 without it. Removing to Greylands for 
 chancre of air, and for the benefit of the salt- 
 sea-breezes, he grew to like the quietude of 
 the place, and determined to make it his home 
 for good. Learning that a small, pretty villa 
 was for sale, he purchased it. It lay back 
 from the coach road beyond the Dolphin Inn, 
 nearly opposite the avenue that led to Grey- 
 lands' Rest. The house belonged to Mr. 
 Blackett of the Grange — the Grange being 
 the chief residence at a small hamlet about 
 two miles off; and Mr. Castlemaine had 
 always intended to purchase it should it be in 
 the market, but Mr. Blackett had hitherto re- 
 fused to sell. His deciding to do so at length 
 was quite a sudden whim ; Mr. Parker heard 
 of it, and secured the little property — which 
 was anything but agreeable at the time to the 
 Master of Greylands. 
 
 There Mr. Parker had since resided, and 
 had become strong and healthy again. He 
 had so far resumed his calling as to attend 
 when a doctor was wanted in Greylands, for 
 there was none nearer than Stilborough. At 
 first Mr. Parker took to respond for hu- 
 manity's sake when appealed to, and he con-
 
 332 THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. 
 
 tinued it from love of his profession. Not 
 for one visit in ten did he get paid, nor did he 
 want to ; the fishermen were poor, and he 
 was large-hearted. 
 
 After examining the little lady traveller, 
 he pronounced her to be suffering from a 
 slight attack of inflammation of the chest, in- 
 duced, no doubt, by the cold to which she had 
 been exposed when travelling. Madame 
 Guise informed him that they had journeyed 
 from Paris (it was no untruth, for they had 
 passed through the French capital and stayed 
 a night in it), and the weather had become 
 very sharp as they neared the coast — which 
 coast it had taken them two days and a night 
 in the diligence to reach ; and the sea voyage 
 had been fearfully hard, and had tried the 
 little one. Yes, yes, the doctor answered, 
 the inclement cold had attacked the litde eirL 
 and she must stay in bed and be taken care 
 of Madame Guise took occasion to observe 
 that she had been going farther on, but on 
 perceiving her child's symptoms of illness had 
 halted at this small village, called Greylands,. 
 which looked open and healthy — but the wind 
 had got up at night Got up very much and 
 very suddenly, assented the doctor, got up to. 
 a gale ; and it was all the better for the litde
 
 A STORM OF WIND. 333 
 
 ■one that she had not orone on. He thouMit 
 he might have to put a small blister on in the 
 afternoon, but he should see. A blister ? — 
 what was that? returned madame, not familiar 
 with the English word. Oh, she remembered, 
 she added a moment after — a vesicatoire. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I see it all : Heaven is helping 
 me," mentally spoke poor Charlotte Guise, as 
 she took up her post by Marie after the 
 doctor's departure, and revolved matters in 
 her mind. " This illness has been sent on pur- 
 pose : a token to me that I have done right 
 to come to Greylands, and that I am to stay 
 in it. And by the good help of Heaven 
 I will stay, until I shall have tracked home 
 the fate of my husband to Mr. Castlemaine." 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
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