CHAPTER XIII
A CONSULTATION
A week later Bernard was seated in the sitting room on the first floor of the castle looking out at the landscape. It was picturesque but depressing. The sun had just set behind dark clouds, and the red glare behind them looked like a fire in a grate. The marshes were covered with white mist, and the arm of the sea that reached up to the castle walls resembled a stream of blood. And over all the veil of night was falling darker and darker. Even to a mind at ease the prospect would have been cheerless, but to Bernard in his present low spirits it was positively suicidal. He felt more miserable than he had ever done in his life.
While watching and waiting, he knew not for what, the sound of voices was heard. As he started to his feet with that nervousness which had increased of late, the door opened slowly and Mark Durham entered smiling. Bernard with an ejaculation of surprise hastened towards him with outstretched hands.
"My dear Mark, how unexpected and how jolly. I was just dying to see someone. When did you arrive?"
"This very minute, and Mrs. Moon"—he turned to the door through which could be seen the gigantic form of the ogress—"showed me up at once. I have come for the night"—he raised his voice for the benefit of the housekeeper—"on business connected with Lord Conniston's estate."
"Sir," said Mrs. Moon, peering in, "don't tell me as his lordship is going to fight."
"No! no! Make yourself easy. He has left the army. Should he go to the front it will be in a way more befitting his rank."
"And a relief it is to hear that," said Mrs. Moon, placing a large hand on her ample bosom. "When Jerry, who is my grandson, wrote me his lordship was a common soldier, I could have fainted, but what I thought Victoria would bring me to with hot water like the spiteful imp of darkness she is."
"Did Jerry write?" asked Durham, making a sign to Gore to be silent.