“Something will prevent!” cried the old lion, shaking his white mane with haughty disdain. “I am willing to meet at your table any one else whom you may choose to invite;—I would sit down with farmer—ploughboy—pauper, but not—not with Reginald Earl of Dashleigh!”
An uncomfortable silence instantly fell like cold water over the circle; the vicar, a peacemaker by nature as well as profession, was particularly annoyed by this unexpected declaration of enmity against his niece’s husband, made by one of his own oldest friends. He was in act to speak, when Mabel suddenly exclaimed, “There is the sound of a carriage!”
“You must be mistaken,” said Mrs. Aumerle, “no one would come at this hour, and especially on so stormy an evening.”
“But it is a carriage,” said Mabel, going to the window, “I see the red liveries of the Dashleighs.”
The sentence unconsciously escaped her lip, and she bit it with vexation at having thoughtlessly uttered the name; for the doctor started up from his seat so hastily, that he upset the chess-table before him.
This created a little noise and confusion, in the midst of which Annabella suddenly entered the room unannounced, looking so haggard and ill, that her uncle involuntary exclaimed, “My dear Anna! has anything happened?”
“Might I speak with you for a moment alone,” said the countess assuming with effort a forced calmness. The vicar, without reply, took her by the trembling hand, and led her to his own little study.
“Dear me! how ill the countess looks!” exclaimed Cecilia.
“Something serious has occurred, depend upon it,” said Mrs. Aumerle; and a variety of conjectures arose as to the cause of the lady’s strange visit, though most of the party present had the prudence to keep these conjectures to themselves.