Dr. Matthewson was very polite and very much afraid of wounding Everard’s feelings. He was sorry not to find Mr. Russell there, he said, as he wished to talk a little about business, and would like to go over the Forrest House, which he believed was shut up.
Everard gave him the keys, and added, hurriedly:
“You will have no trouble whatever, as I have no intention to dispute your right to the property. It was lawfully Rossie’s, and, therefore, yours now.”
It was the first time Rossie had been mentioned, and Everard felt as if his heart were bursting as he pronounced the name, while the doctor’s lip quivered, and he shut his eyes tight to keep the tears back.
“Thanks,” he said, as he took the offered keys. “We will speak of business by and by, when I can trust myself to tell you more fully what your sister’s wishes were. Now, I only wish to see the house where she used to live. I will return the keys on my way back to the hotel. I wish you good evening, sir.”
He lifted his hat courteously, and walked away with his friend, while Everard watched him for a moment with that same icy chill about his heart and the feeling as if from the darkness and silence of her far-off grave Rossie were beckoning to him and trying to warn him of danger.
Meantime the two gentlemen went rapidly along the streets of Rothsay, where, as strangers, they were stared at by the people, who watched them until they turned into the avenue leading to the Forrest House.
“A splendid inheritance! I quite envy you, old boy,” Walter Klyne said, as they ascended the broad steps and stood upon the piazza.
“Yes, it will do very well for a country house, but it will take a mint of money to fix it up as I’d like to have it,” was the doctor’s reply, as he fitted the key to the lock and entered the wide, old-fashioned hall, already beginning to grow dim with the shadows of the late afternoon. “It’s deuced cold, and damp, and ghost-like in here; don’t you think so?” the doctor said, shivering a little as he hurried on through room after room, hardly seeing them at all, until he came to one, the door of which was open as well as the blind opposite, so that a flood of sunlight streamed through the window and fell across the floor.
“This is a jolly room; let’s go in here,” Klyne said, entering himself, and looking curiously around, while the doctor stood by the threshold, wiping from his face great drops of sweat, and starting at every sound, as if he fancied the place full of something harmful. “Why, Doc, what ails you? You are white as a sheet. What’s the matter?” Klyne asked, and the doctor replied: