“If you introduce me to nothing worse,” answered the visitor, “I shall love Dunberry for itself.”
“That reminds me,” I said. “I never thought of it before. If we’re going to take him to see the wreck to-morrow, Harry, where shall we get a boat?”
“H’m!” said my friend. “That requires consideration, to be sure. They’re all laid up for the holidays, I suppose.”
“Well, we must see,” said I, and, in the act of speaking, turned my head.
Now there was a row of wooden pillars behind us, supporting a gallery, which threw into comparative darkness the space underneath; and projected round that pillar nearest us, and leaned out of the darkness, hung the face of Rampick. It was ghastly pale, the jaw loose, the livid spectacles about the eyes horribly emphasized; and its expression was one of an unnerved and listening sickness that made me shudder. In the very act of my looking, it was snatched back; and I saw the man himself going, lurching heavily, but on tiptoe, into the gloom and away.
To say that I was startled would be but to express ill my feelings. All the doubts and agitations of the earlier evening trooped upon me again, like a cold cloud. Had he followed us for a purpose? and, if so, for what purpose? He had long slunk out of all attendance at these feasts. For some reason, it seemed—we could only assume what—we had become objects of mixed terror and fascination to him. He must have picked himself up from that fall, and stealthily shadowed us hither, where, it was evident, he had taken up a position cautiously to observe and overhear us.
I bent towards Harry to whisper to him; but before I could secure his attention, a stir and silence ran through the room, and there, on the platform, was our parish clerk holding up his hand. He came to say that Mr. Sant had been summoned hastily to the Court, where an old servant of the squire was reported at death’s door, and to request the audience to take his apologies and disperse.
As we rose, I looked at Harry dumbly and significantly.
So here were we again baulked for the moment of our confession. It was under the spirit of a fall from gaiety to a very real depression that I said good night to my friends.