Ralph let the paper fall from his hand, and gazed upon Mr. Drayton with a look of unmingled astonishment. "In the name of Heaven!" he exclaimed, "what is the meaning of this? Henry Woodhall killed in a duel! and by me! I can not believe my senses when I see such an assertion under the hand of Lady Danvers. She must have been grossly and terribly misled--but there must be some foundation for this;" and, opening the door vehemently, he made his way to the outer porch, and called aloud, "Stilling! Stilling!"
The man, who was leading the horses up and down, returned to the door, and Ralph at once demanded, "What is this? Lady Danvers, in her letter to Mr. Drayton here, declares that my cousin Henry has been killed in a duel."
"Well, sir, did you not know it?" asked Stilling, in a cold tone.
"Know it!" exclaimed Ralph; "how in Heaven's name should I know it? You never mentioned the subject to me during the whole course of the journey."
"I thought it would be too painful a subject, sir," replied the man, with a very peculiar look; "you had the Duke of Norfolk's letter."
"The duke never mentioned a word of it," said Ralph. "Good God! this will drive me mad;" and, turning on his heel, he walked back into the house, followed by Mr. Drayton, and, casting himself into a chair, covered his eyes with his hands in an agony of grief and consternation.
Gaunt Stilling tied the horses to an iron railing and followed him quietly; and good Mr. Drayton, as much moved to attention and respect toward the young gentleman by the agony he saw him suffer as by his lady's letter, did all that he could think of to comfort and console him. It was not much he could think of, it is true, for he was a man of material thoughts and habits. He could tell the number of acres, roods, and poles in every farm upon the estate, and how they should be cultivated. He knew the condition and the wants of every laborer, every tenant; and he tried his best to ameliorate the one, and to diminish the other. But to deal with deep sorrow--to soothe an intelligent mind and feeling heart, were tasks above or beyond his scope. At best--and it was his only resource--he might try to divert the thoughts of one afflicted from the causes of grief. He had done so with many a mendicant at the hall door--for he was no harsh and cruel deputy despot--and he tried at least to add comfort to gifts. He did the same even now. He even teased Ralph about bed-rooms, and first and second tables, and what he would require during his stay; till at length he pressed him so hard upon these subjects, that Ralph rose and followed him to the rooms he proposed to show him with a gloomy air and heavy step, from which all the elasticity of youth seemed gone.
Gaunt Stilling looked after him with a hesitating, uncertain expression of countenance, as if he did not know whether to follow him or not. But, after a moment's consideration, he turned round, led the horses to the stables, and after having given them, with some directions, into the hands of a country lad whom he found there, returned to the house and sought out his master, whom he found sitting sorrowfully alone, Mr. Drayton having quitted him in order to make the necessary preparations.
The moment Gaunt Stilling entered the room, Ralph motioned him to shut the door, and said, "Now tell me more of this sad affair, Stilling. I am calmer now; and though I do wish you had spoken to me on the subject as we came hither, by which you would have stopped my journey entirely, yet I dare say you were under the same mistake which it seems has been made by others."
"Why, sir," replied the servant, in a tone of some feeling, "I saw you very melancholy and sad, and, as the duke himself had written to you, I naturally concluded that you were right well aware of all. You may easily judge that, the death of Mr. Henry Woodhall was the subject of talk with the whole of the duke's house; and when he had written to you, I could not presume to speak to you on the subject without your speaking to me."