CHAPTER XX.
Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to Locksley Hall,
Now for me the woods may wither, now for me the roof-tree fall.
TENNYSON.
The shades of evening were closing over Montrevor, and candles had just been lighted in the library, earlier than usual, as it seemed, for the completion of some urgent business with which its occupants were employed.
There were three individuals seated round the writing-table: Mr. Trevor, his son Eugene, and a third person, who, with pen in hand, with parchment opened before him, looked what he really was—a lawyer. He wrote some time in silence, the old man rocking himself backwards and forwards in his chair, as if nervous and weary; and the other leaning over the table, watching the proceedings of the scribe with anxious interest plainly revealed in his dark, but handsome countenance. At length, finishing with a flourish, the man of business looked up, and asked for the witnesses.
Eugene Trevor was about hastily to rise and ring the bell, when, as if by fortunate coincidence, Mabel Marryott entered the room.
"Oh, exactly; here is one, at any rate," he said, resuming his seat; and the woman advancing, was directed by the lawyer to sign the papers on which he had been occupied.
Marryott still held the pen in her hand, having accomplished the act, and was glancing at her master's son with something of a congratulatory leer upon her countenance, as he bent over eagerly towards the document, whilst Mr. Trevor's shrill voice, at the same moment, was raised in irritated inquiry, as to who was to be the other witness; exclaiming, that they had better make haste and call some one else, and let the business be at an end.
"No need of that—I am here as witness!" exclaimed a deep, low voice, whose thrilling tones burst upon the listeners' ears like thunder before the lightning flash.