[CHAPTER XL.]
BEAUMONT PLAYS HIS LAST CARD.
Though he seems to thee an angel
Let him not thy heart beguile,
He's a devil from a strange hell,
Evil lurks beneath his smile.
Round the old Grange the winds were howling dismally, and now that the thaw had set in the sadness of the place was increased by the incessant dripping of the melted snow. The dead leaves in the park were sodden and heavy, so heavy, indeed, that they could not be moved by the keen wind, which, in revenge, shook the bare boughs of the trees, or whistled dismally through the cracks and crannies of the old building.
Una sat at the window of the parlour looking out at the heavy, grey sky, to which the bleak trees lifted up their gaunt arms, and listening to the monotonous dripping on the terrace. But, in spite of the dreariness and solitude of the place, surely her heart should have been lighter and her face gayer than it was, seeing that in a few days she was going to be united to the man she loved. But the shadow on the dismal landscape also rested upon her face, and even the lively chatter of Miss Cassy about the wedding could not bring a smile into her mournful eyes.
"I'm sure, Una dear, I'm glad you're going to be married," said Miss Cassy, who had put the tea cosy on her head preparatory to leaving the room, "but really I don't know what's coming over things; you look so sad--quite like a mourner, you know--the Mourning Bride of what's-his-name--and then for Patience to stay away all night! Why does she do it?--why!--why!--she never did it before, and then those letters you got this morning, what are they about?--it's all so odd, I really don't know what things are coming to."
"Things are going very well, aunt," said Una with a faint smile. "Patience stayed all night in the village because of the storm last night, and as to those letters, I'll tell you all about them later on."