William could not have forborne a joke, though a kindly one, upon such a speech at another time; but somehow now he could not. The spectre of Aunt Dinah cowering at his bedside was present with him, and when she bid him good-night, although he was ashamed to confess his trepidation, he hated a return to that old-fashioned room where he had twice experienced the same kind of visitation.
When he returned he made up his fire, drew his window curtains wide open to admit the earliest streak of sunrise, pulled his bed-curtains back to the posts, and placed his candle on the table in the centre of the room, resolved that Aunt Dinah’s double should not at all events steal on him unawares.
At last the pleasant October morning came. The wind that had blown wildly in the night was quiet now, having left its spoil of yellow leaves strewn upon the lawn or rustling over the gravel walks.
The cheerful yellow light cleared the room of all unearthly shadows, and the song of birds refreshed his ears, as he made his early toilet.
The joyous bark of little Psyche scampering before the windows, the call of the driver to his team, the whistling of birds, the voices of the inmates of the house, and at last the laugh of Violet Darkwell from the porch.
Beautiful music! like merry spirits in the air departing, soon to be heard no more. He stood with his hand on his half open door—smiling—scarcely breathing—listening, as never did Fanatico per la musica, to the favourite roulade of prima donna. It ceased—he listened still, and then sighed in the silence, and seemed to himself to waken.
In his ear that music sounded sadly, and his heart was full as he ran down the stairs smiling. And pretty Violet’s slender figure was leaning at the side of the porch; and she looked up, knowing his step, with a smile, the old kindly smile, for a moment, and then its character a little changed, something of the inscrutable but beautiful reserves of girlhood, which baffled, and interested, and pained William so. He would have liked to have called her Vi. The name was at his lips; but there was something of pride, which even thus, while his boat is on the shore and his bark is on the sea, restrained him.
“Miss—mind I’m calling you rightly—Miss Violet Darkwell, I’m so glad I’ve found you so early,” he said, smiling, “my hours—I ought to say minutes—are so precious. I go at half-past ten, and I hardly saw or heard you last night, you were so anxious to be off.”
“You forget how wise we all were, and wisdom, though it’s a very good thing, is not lively; and its chief use, I suppose, is that—a sort of lullaby, for I’m sure nobody ever minds it. You don’t nor I, nor darling grannie: and I think if you wanted to be put to sleep there would be nothing like having a tranquil old sage, like Winnie Dobbs, at your bedside to repeat a string of her sayings, like ‘Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise;’ and besides being very wise, I think you were just, if it is not very disrespectful to say so, ever so little cross, so that altogether I thought it best to go to bed and to sleep as fast as I could.”
“I quite forget. Was I cross? I dare say I was. I think ill-temper is one expression of suffering; and I have not been very happy lately,” said William.