With such a tenant dwelling amid such surroundings, it was little to be wondered at that the Court gained the reputation of being haunted. Miss Linisfarne was reported to be wealthy, but not all the treasures of Solomon would have tempted a Farbis man to penetrate the mansion after dark. And this same superstition preserved the Court from the intrusion of the villagers either as visitors, beggars, or burglars. They dreaded even to pass the gates after dusk, and with fertile imagination began to weave strange stories of the lonely lady in the lonely house. Parson Jarner discouraged these tales, and reproved the tellers, but notwithstanding his prohibition, Farbis folk still held to their opinions. They declared that the Court was haunted, that Miss Linisfarne was a witch, that orgies were held in the empty rooms at midnight, and that cries of tortured women and of dying men could be heard at night. With such fancies did the villagers beguile the winter evenings over their fires. Superstition was strangely ingrained in the nature of the Farbis folk, and all Parson Jarner's arguments failed to eradicate their deeply rooted beliefs.
The drawing-room, wherein Miss Linisfarne was generally to be found, was a vast apartment in the right-hand corner of the house. Eight French windows opened on to the front terrace, and five oriels at the side overlooked a sea of green, for here the forest rolled its leafy waves up to the very walls of the mansion. This apartment possessed a polished floor, which was strewn with bright-hued mats from the looms of Ispahan. Scattered sparsely through the room were chairs with cushions of faded satin, oval tables of rosewood and walnut, laden with books long since out of print; also with strange carvings in ivory by Chinese artificers, pots of dried rose-leaves, and glass-shaded wax flowers. Sofas of classical shape, designed during the first Empire of France, were stiffly set against the walls. Overhead the oval roof was frescoed with paintings of mythological subjects, and on the walls hung dark oil pictures and gilt-framed mirrors. Faded curtains draped the windows, and so excluded the light that the vast room was constantly filled with shadows. Over all lay the grey dust undisturbed for years. It was an eerie-looking place, and there was something terrifying about the large hollow empty space. Ghosts only could fitly inhabit its gloom and desolation.
Near one of the oriel windows Miss Linisfarne lay on her couch. Here there was an attempt at comfort. A square of carpet faced the sofa, and was met at its outer borders by a gaudy Japanese screen, which converted the spot into a tiny room. A work-table stood close at hand, and near it an armchair was placed, while a revolving bookcase gave a touch of modernity to the nook. Here, in this oasis of comfort, Miss Linisfarne worked, and read, and fretted, and thought. It was at once her home and her prison.
At times her hands would fall idly on her lap, and her eyes would wander from book or work to gaze out of the oriel at the green ocean of trees which isolated her dwelling. God alone knows what were her thoughts during those melancholy musings. Of nothing bright, you may be sure, for Mariana in her Moated Grange was less solitary than this woman with the sad eyes. A cloud of mystery, of dread, of horror, hung over the house and its occupant. No wonder the superstitious villagers avoided the unholy spot. House and women were accursed.
Look at her as she lies there, with the light of the afternoon on her countenance. Can you not see how she has suffered--how mental torture has worn her face thin; how it has imprinted lines upon her brow, and laced her golden hair with threads of grey? She can count but forty-seven years, and yet she is an aged woman; for grief is even more powerful to destroy than time. The light has long since left those mournful eyes, the roses have long since faded from those worn cheeks, and the mouth is now set in fretful lines which were not there in early days. The features alone retain their beauty. Her straight nose, curved lips, firmly moulded chin, and high forehead are as if carved in ivory, for long seclusion from fresh air and tinting sunlight has imparted a yellowish hue to the skin. And the countless wrinkles round the mouth, under the eyes, and across the forehead, tell their own tale of mental agonies, of tearful hours, of sleepless nights. Sorrow had set her unmistakable seal on the face, and had rendered it haggard before its time. Wan countenance, inert figure, listless hands, and hopeless looks--a mournful spectacle this of sadness and despair.
Yet she was still careful of her dress. No fault could be found with the grey silk tea-gown, adorned with lace at wrists and throat, or with the dainty slipper on the slender foot. Grey as was her hair, yet the undying coquetry of the feminine nature impelled her to coil it smoothly, and scatter it in crisp curls. When her hands moved, diamond rings glittered on the fingers, and her lean wrists were encircled with costly bracelets. She was aged before her time, she was lonely, she was filled with despair; but the woman in her still bade her tire her head, deck herself with gems, clothe herself in rich garments, and make the most of what was left to her.
Meg sat in the armchair close to the couch. A greater contrast than the exuberant vitality of this girl, beside the etiolated looks of the elder woman, can scarcely be imagined. Bright eyes, rosy cheeks, restless hands--there was life in every movement; while Miss Linisfarne, listless and weary, looked as though the blood were stagnant in her veins. The girl still wore her rough serge dress, and her heavily shod feet looked clumsy beside the dainty slimness of Miss Linisfarne's slippers. Her hair was roughened by the wind, her hands were brown and scarred, and she spoke in a clear hearty voice, which contrasted strongly with the faint tones of her hostess. She brought into the room a breath of the woodlands, an odour of earth, of pine, of salt wave, and breezy down. Her very presence seemed to invigorate the pale invalid, who looked at her so kindly. As Antæus drew vigour from his parent earth, so did Miss Linisfarne draw fresh vitality from the animal healthfulness of her visitor.
They were talking together on an interesting subject, and as the conversation went on, a flush crept into the cheeks of the elder woman, her eyes grew brighter, and her lips parted in a faint smile. The vitality diffused by Meg stirred the blood in her veins, and quickened the wan life to a semblance of health. So might Eurydice have regained health and life and sprightliness with every step she took from the kingdom of the dead.