by Duchess
CHAPTER X.
In the meantime the daylight dwindles, and twilight descends. Even thattoo departs, and now darkness falls upon the distressed household, andstill there is no news of Sir Adrian.
Arthur Dynecourt, who is already beginning to be treated with duerespect as the next heir to the baronetcy, has quietly hinted to oldLady FitzAlmont that perhaps it will be as well, in the extraordinarycircumstances, if they all take their departure. This the old lady,though strongly disinclined to quit the castle, is debating in her ownmind, and, being swayed by Lady Gertrude, who is secretly rather boredby the dullness that has ensued on the strange absence of their host,decides to leave on the morrow, to the great distress of both Dora andFlorence Delmaine, who shrink from deserting the castle while itsmaster's fate is undecided. But they are also sensible that, to remainthe only female guests, would be to outrage the conventionalities.
Henry Villiers, Ethel's father, is also of opinion that they should allquit the castle without delay. He is a hunting man, an M.F.H. in his owncounty, and is naturally anxious to get back to his own quarters sometime before the hunting-season commences. Some others have already gone,and altogether it seems to Florence that there is no other course opento her but to pack up and desert him, whom she loves, in the hour of hisdirest need. For there are moments even now when she tells herself thathe is still living, and only waiting for a saving hand to drag him intosmooth waters once again!
A silence has fallen upon the house more melancholy than the loudestexpression of grief. The servants are conversing over their supper infrightened whispers, and conjecturing moodily as to the fate of theirlate master. To them Sir Adrian is indeed dead, if not buried.
In the servants' corridor a strange dull light is being flung upon thepolished boards by a hanging-lamp that is burning dimly, as thoughoppressed by the dire evil that has fallen upon the old castle. No soundis to be heard here in this spot, remote from the rest of the house,where the servants seldom come except to go to bed, and never indeedwithout an inward shudder as they pass the door that leads to thehaunted chamber.
Just now, being at their supper, there is no fear that any of them willbe about, and so the dimly lighted corridor is wrapped in an unbrokensilence. Not quite unbroken, however. What is this that strikes upon theear? What sound comes to break the unearthly stillness? A creepingfootstep, a cautious tread, a slinking, halting, uncertain motion,belonging surely to some one who sees an enemy, a spy in every flittingshadow. Nearer and nearer it comes now into the fuller glare of thelamp-light, and stops short at the door so dreaded by the castleservants.
Looking uneasily around him, Arthur Dynecourt--for it is he--unfastensthis door, and, entering hastily, closes it firmly behind him, andascends the staircase within. There is no halting in his footsteps now,no uncertainty, no caution, only a haste that betokens a desire to gethis errand over as quickly as possible.
Having gained the first landing, he walks slowly and on tiptoe again,and, creeping up the stone stairs, crouches down so as to bring his earon a level with the lower chink of the door.
Alas, all is still; no faintest groan can be heard! The silence of Deathis on all around. In spite of his hardihood, the cold sweat of fearbreaks out upon Dynecourt's brow; and yet he tells himself that now heis satisfied, all is well, his victim is secure, is beyond the power ofwords or kindly search to recall him to life. He may be discovered nowas soon as they like. Who can fix the fact of his death upon him? Thereis no blow, no mark of violence to criminate any one. He is safe, andall the wealth he had so coveted is at last his own!
There is something fiendish in the look of exultation that lights ArthurDynecourt's face. He has a small dull lantern with him, and now itreveals the vile glance of triumph that fires his eyes. He would fainhave entered to gaze upon his victim, to assure himself of his victory,but he refrains. A deadly fear that he may not yet be quite dead keepshim back, and, with a frown, he prepares to descend once more.
Again he listens, but the sullen roar of the rising night wind is allthat can be heard. His hand shakes, his face assumes a livid hue, yet hetells himself that surely this deadly silence is better than what helistened to last night. Then a ghostly moaning, almost incessant andunearthly in its sound, had pierced his brain. It was more like the cryof a dying brute than that of a man. Sir Adrian slowly starved to death!In his own mind Arthur can see him now, worn, emaciated, lost to alllikeness of anything fair or comely. Have the rats attacked him yet? Asthis grewsome thought presents itself, Dynecourt rises quickly from hiscrouching position, and, flying down the steps, does not stop runninguntil he arrives in the corridor below again.
He dashes into this like one possessed; but, finding himself in thelight of the hanging lamp, collects himself by a violent effort, andlooks around.
Yes, all is still. No living form but his is near. The corridor, as heglances affrightedly up and down, is empty. He can see nothing but hisown shadow, at sight of which he starts and turns pale and shudders.
The next moment he recovers himself, and, muttering an anathema upon hiscowardice, he moves noiselessly toward his room and the brandy-bottlethat has been his constant companion of late.
Yet, here in his own room, he can not rest. The hours go by with laggardsteps. Midnight has struck, and still he paces his floor from wall towall, half-maddened by his thoughts. Not that he relents. No feelings ofrepentance stir him, there is only a nervous dread of the hour when itwill be necessary to produce the dead body, if only to prove his claimto the title so dearly and so infamously purchased.
Is he indeed dead--gone past recall? Is this house, this place, the oldtitle, the chance of winning the woman he would have, all his own? Ishis hated rival--hateful to him only because of his fair face and genialmanners and lovable disposition, and the esteem with which he filled thehearts of all who knew him--actually swept out of his path?
Again the lurking morbid longing to view the body with his own eyes,the longing that had been his some hours ago when listening at the fataldoor, seizes hold of him, and grows in intensity with every passingmoment.
At last it conquers him. Lighting a candle, he opens his door and peersout. No one is astir. In all probability every one is abed, and nowsleeping the sleep of the just--all except him. Will there ever be anyrest or dreamless sleep for him again?
He goes softly down-stairs, and makes his way to the lower door. Meetingno one, he ascends the stairs like one only half conscious, until hefinds himself again before the door of the haunted chamber.
Then he wakes into sudden life. An awful terror takes possession of him.He struggles with himself, and presently so far succeeds in regainingsome degree of composure that he can lean against the wall and wipe hisforehead, and vow to himself that he will never descend until he hasaccomplished the object of his visit. But the result of this terriblefight with fear and conscience shows itself in the increasing pallor ofhis brow and the cold perspiration that stands thick upon his forehead.
Nerving himself for a final effort, he lays his hand upon the door andpushes it open. This he does with bowed head and eyes averted, afraid tolook upon his terrible work. A silence, more horrible to his guiltyconscience than the most appalling noises, follows this act; and, againthe nameless terror seizing him, he shudders and draws back, until,finding the wall behind him, he leans against it gladly, as if forsupport.
And now at last he raises his eyes. Slowly at first and cringingly, asif dreading what they might see. Upon the board at his feet they restfor a moment, and then glide to the next board, and so on, until hiscoward eyes have covered a considerable portion of the floor.
And now, grown bolder, he lifts his gaze to the wall opposite andsearches it carefully. Then his eyes turn again to the floor. His faceghastly, and with his eyes almost darting from their sockets, he compelshimself to bring his awful investigation to an end. Avoiding the cornersat first, as though there he expects his vile deed will cry aloud to himdemanding vengeance, he gazes in a dazed way at the center of theap
artment, and dwells upon it stupidly, until he knows he must lookfurther still; and then his dull eyes turn to the corners where thedusky shadows lie, brought thither by the glare of his small lantern.Reluctantly, but carefully, he scans the apartment, no remotest spotescapes his roused attention. But no object, dead or living, attractshis notice! The room is empty!
He staggers. His hold upon the door relaxes. His lamp falls to theground; the door closes with a soft but deadly thud behind him,and--he is a prisoner in the haunted chamber! As the darkness closesin upon him, and he finds himself alone with what he hardly dares tocontemplate, his senses grow confused, his brain reels; a fearful screamissues from his lips, and he falls to the floor insensible.
