“You would be quite as much perplexed if you had known him as long as I have! Never since my father’s death, which seems a century ago, have I felt safe; never in my uncle’s presence at ease. I get no nearer to him. It seems to me, Mr. Grant, that the cause of discomfort and strife is never that we are too near others, but that we are not near enough.”
This was a remark after Donal’s own heart.
“I understand you,” he said, “and entirely agree with you.”
“I never feel that my uncle cares for me except as one of the family, and the holder of its chief property. He would have liked me better, perhaps, if I had been dependent on him.”
“How long will he be your guardian?” asked Donal.
“He is no longer my guardian legally. The time set by my father’s will ended last year. I am three and twenty, and my own mistress. But of course it is much better to have the head of the house with me. I wish he were a little more like other people!—But tell me about the ghost-music: we had not time to talk of it last night!”
“I got pretty near the place it came from. But the wind blew so, and it was so dark, that I could do nothing more then.”
“You will try again?”
“I shall indeed.”
“I am afraid, if you find a natural cause for it, I shall be a little sorry.”