'I am certain that Maude' (he spoke of her as 'Maude' to himself and his sister) 'won't mention our little matter, for cogent reasons, to her brother,' he reflected confidently;. 'but I must work the oracle with Deb about her will. With that heart ailment which she undoubtedly has, she may go off the hooks at any moment, as I, perhaps unwisely, hinted; and I am not lawyer enough to know how old Earlshaugh's last testament may stand; yet, surely, I am Deb's heir-at-law, anyhow, I should think!'
Unless Mr. Hawkey Sharpe had indulged—which was not improbable—in 'tall talk,' his language and disposition augured ill for the safety and comfort of Maude's fiancé if he came to Earlshaugh; but Sharpe's threatened vengeance had no decided plan as yet.
CHAPTER XVI.
'FOOL'S PARADISE.'
The earliest of the guests so roughly referred to by Mr. Hawkey Sharpe, as stated in the preceding chapter, duly arrived in the noon of the following day, and were closely reconnoitred by that personage through a field-glass from an angle of the bartizan, and he was enabled to perceive that there were only two young ladies—a tall, dark-haired one, and another less in stature, very petite indeed, with a small, flower-like face and golden hair; for they were simply the somewhat reluctant Hester Maule and the irrepressible Annot Drummond, for whose accommodation Mrs. Drugget, the housekeeper, had made all the necessary preparations.
'Welcome to Earlshaugh—you are no stranger here, Hester!' said Roland, as he kissed the latter when he assisted her to alight from the carriage at the porte-cochère—the lightest and fleetest thing possible in the way of a salute—one without warmth or lingering force; but then Annot—whom he did not kiss at all 'before folk'—had her hazel-green eyes upon them.
For Annot he had the most choice little bouquet that old Willie Wardlaw, the gardener, could prepare; but there was none for Hester, an omission which the latter scarcely noticed.
'And this is your home!' exclaimed Annot, burying her little nose among the many lilies of the valley, pink rosebuds, and fragrant stephanotis.
'It is the home of my forefathers,' replied Roland almost evasively, as he gave her his arm.
'What a romantic reply—savours quite of a three-volume novel!' exclaimed Annot, unaware of what the answer too literally implied, and what was actually passing in Roland's mind; but Hester felt for him, and saw the painful blush that crossed his nut-brown cheek.