In silence the little company crossed the hall; in silence they seated themselves round the dinner-table and prepared for the feast. Ruth’s grey eyes were brilliant with excitement as she turned from side to side. She did not want to talk; conversation would have been but an interruption at the moment; she wanted but to look and to think.
The walls were covered with portraits of ancestors—Captain Farrell who sailed the seas with Nelson’s fleet; General Farrell who fought under Wellington; Lord Edward Farrell, the famous judge; fresh-faced country squires in quaint, old-world costumes. The dim faces looked down from their frames with a curious, haunting likeness running through all; and at the head of the table sat the last of his race, the grim old man to whom death was coming. Ah, it must be hard to look back on so good a race, to realise that no son remained alive to carry on the name, and that one of the strangers now seated round his own table would shortly reign in his place!
Ruth thrilled with pity; her beautiful eyes grew soft and dreamy; and the clergyman, looking at her across the table, could scarcely restrain an exclamation of surprise. He had understood that Mr Farrell possessed only distant relatives, but this girl was a true chip of the old block; allowing for difference of age and sex, here was the same face which was repeated again and again upon the walls—the aquiline features, the melancholy lips, the straight heavy brows.
Mr Thornton knew that the time had come when his host was to choose his successor at the Court, and, looking from one to the other of the four young people, he personally felt no doubt as to the one on whom the choice would fall. Ruth Farrell bore her credentials in her face, and with a thrill, half painful, half amused, he realised how great a factor in his own life this slim young girl might be. As lady of the Court and his own patron, she would have it in her power to ensure his comfort or the reverse. Ah, well, well, it was too early to speculate! The child had a sweet, good face; no doubt all would be well.
While Ruth and the vicar were absorbed in their own thoughts, Mrs Wolff was also silent, overcome with the weight of responsibility which pressed heavily on her unaccustomed shoulders. Little Mrs Thornton prattled of cheery nothings at the other end of the table, and Jack Melland, turning towards his companion, remarked formally—
“I—ah—I think we have met earlier in the day!”
“In the train, you mean; yes! We saw you get out at the station, but you disappeared so quickly that I could not think what had happened to you.”
“Nothing mysterious. A dogcart had been sent for me. I jumped into it with my bag, and was out of sight before you had gathered together your possessions.”
“Ah, yes; we had boxes in the van.” Mollie tilted her head to its characteristic angle and smiled at him with wide grey eyes. “And you watched our toilette across the carriage, little guessing it was for your own benefit. We knew that we were to meet other visitors here, but had no idea who they were or how many there might be. We imagined walking into the midst of a big house-party; hence the preparations. It was only natural we should want to look nice.”
“Perfectly! I am glad I was fortunate enough to see the result, since I suppose no one else—”