During this examination Laurence Alsager, who had seated himself next to Miss Hayter, in the neighbourhood of the piano, was conscious that Miss Gillespie's looks constantly strayed towards him. It is very odd. There was nothing coquettish in the regard, he knew every one in that category of glances of old; but these were strangely earnest looks, always averted when she found they were remarked. While they were full upon him, Miss Hayter, in reply to something he had said about his delight in ferns, expressed a hope that they would see him at her father's place, the Arme Wood, where there was a splendid fernery. Laurence, in reply, thanked her, and said how happy he would have been to go, but that he feared it would be impossible, as he intended to leave Redmoor in a day or two. He must be a dutiful son, and visit his father, whom he had not seen since his return to England. As he said this Miss Gillespie's eyes were full on him.
They were very singular eyes, he thought, as he undressed himself lazily before the fire in his bed-room. Very singular eyes; so large, and dark, and speaking. What on earth made the woman look at him so perpetually! He was growing too old to inspire love at first sight, he felt, smiling grimly as he inspected himself in the looking-glass; besides, she was not the style of woman for any such folly. How magnificently she sung! what depth and pathos there was in her voice! "Eurydice, Eurydice!"--those notes were enough to go through any man's soul; those notes were enough to--hallo, what's this?
He had strolled across to the dressing-table, and taken up a small sealed Dote, addressed in a thin fine female hand to Colonel Alsager.
He broke the seal and read:
"I heard you talk of leaving Redmoor. If not impossible I pray you to stay. Your presence will be a check upon two people, who, liberated from that, will go headlong to ruin, dragging down a third in their fall. For the welfare of this third person both you and I are solicitous. But it seems probable that my sphere of usefulness is ended; so all devolves upon you. Remember this, and for her sake, stay on."
"Ah!" said Laurence Alsager when he had perused this mysterious note for the second time--"there's no doubt that my anonymous correspondent is the handsome woman with the eyes and voice. What she means I'll find out in the morning."
[CHAPTER XIX.]
DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.
On the morning after the day when Miss Gillespie had made so successful a debut among the company assembled at Redmoor, Mr. Effingham, lounging quietly up the road from the Mitford Arms, rang at the lodge-gate, and after a few minutes' conversation with the old portress, passed up the avenue. His conversation was purely of a pleasant character; there was no inquiry as to who he was, or what he wanted,--all that had been settled long ago. He was a gentleman from London, who was writing a book 'bout all the old fam'ly houses, and was going to put our place into it. He knew Sir Charles, and had his leave to come and go when he liked. A civil-spoken gentleman he was, and talked most wonderful; never passed the lodge without stopping to say something. Perhaps of all Mr. Effingham's peculiarities, this impressed the old woman the most; for, like all country people of her class who live a solitary and quiet life, she was thoroughly reticent, and it is questionable whether, beyond the ordinary salutations to those with whom she was brought in contact, she uttered more than a dozen sentences in a week. But Mr. Effingham's light airy chatter was very welcome to the old lady, and, combined with the politeness which he always exhibited, had rendered him a great favourite.
A considerable alteration had been effected in Mr. Effingham's outward man since his first visit to Redmoor. As in the former instance, his first step on receiving the ten pounds from Sir Charles was to purchase a new suit of clothes. He bought them at the neighbouring town, and in pursuance of his intention to assume a literary or artistic character, he had endeavoured to render his apparel suitable, or, as he called it, "to make up for the part." So he now wore a large slouch felt wideawake hat, a dark velveteen jacket, long waistcoat, gray trousers, and ankle-jack boots. Had he carried out his own views of literary attire, he would have adopted a long dressing-gown and Turkish trousers, such as he had seen in the portraits of celebrated authors; but he felt that these would be out of place in the country, and might attract attention. He, however, armed himself with a large notebook and a pencil of portentous thickness, with which he was in the habit of jotting down visionary memoranda whenever he found himself observed. By the initiated and the upper classes this last-described act may have been recognized as an indisputable literary trait; but by the lower orders Mr. Effingham was regarded as a mystic potentate of the turf, whose visit to the Mitford arms had mysterious connection with the proximity of Sir Danesbury Boucher's stables, where Lime-juice, the third favourite for the Derby, was in training; while the entries of the memoranda were by the same people ascribed to the exercise of a process known to them as the booking of bets.