“I’m glad to see you here, Lanty.”
The full diapason of Vashti’s voice made the little phrase beautiful. It seemed to Sidney she was like some heavenly hostess bidding wanderers welcome to holy places.
“You have heard of poor Len?”
“Yes, ill news flies fast,” he said. His brows were knit by honest pain; and regret, which manlike he strove to hide, made his eyes sombre.
“Are they bringing him home?”
“Yes, Mr. Simpson left for Boston by the six o’clock train from Brixton.”
Despite himself Lanty’s lips quivered. Mabella ventured in the dusk to touch his hand comfortingly. Her intuitional tenderness was revealed in the simple gesture. He looked at her, unveiling the sadness of his soul to her eyes, and in her answering look he saw comprehension and consolation. As if by one impulse their eyes sought the corner where the slender white obelisk marked the grave of Martha; and having singled it out, where it stood like an ominous finger-post on love’s road, they once again steadfastly regarded each other, each one saying in the heart, “Till death.” And another thought came to each. They mourned for Len, but she rejoiced. Perhaps it was unorthodox, but these two, in the first tenderness of their unspoken love, felt sure that Len did not enter the dark unwelcomed.
Night was coming swiftly on—a “black-browed night” indeed. The faces of the four young people shone out palely from the environing gloom.
It was a solitary moment. Sidney sighed involuntarily. He felt a little lonely. Regretting almost that he could claim no personal share in the grief for Len. Vashti heard his sigh and looked at him. By a capricious impulse she willed to make him hers—to make him admire her. She smiled—and let her smile die slowly. As a fitful flame glows for a moment making a barren hearth bright ere it gathers itself into the embers again, so this gentle smile changed all the scene to Sidney’s eyes. His heart was already captive, but it was now weighted with a heavier shackle.
Vashti Lansing saw clearly the effect of her smile, and a mad impulse came upon her to laugh aloud in triumph. Every now and then she felt within her the throes of an evil dominant will. Such a will as, planted in the breast of sovereigns, makes millions weep. The harsh bell began to jingle. It was time to enter.