Anne Hereford: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

She went back along the gallery, opened the door of the first bedroom on this side the staircase, and showed me in. It was a very pretty room, not large; its hangings and curtains of delicate chintz, lined with pale rose-colour, and its furniture not covered up, but as evidently not in occupation. I wondered why they could not put me in that. The window was wide open. I untied my bonnet and stood there, Hill closing the door and going downstairs, no doubt to call up the housemaids.

With the exception of the gravel drive below, and the green lawn in front of it, its velvet softness dotted with the brightest flowers, the place seemed to look upon nothing but trees, intersected with gloomy walks. Trees of all sorts—low as dwarf shrubs, high as towering poplars, dark green, light green, bright green. The walks branched everywhere—one in particular, just opposite my window, looked very gloomy, shaded as it was by dark pine-trees. I found afterwards that it was called the Pine Walk. Why the place should have struck upon me with a gloom, I can hardly tell; other people might have seen nothing to justify the impression. "Chandos has need to live in a world of its own," I thought, "for assuredly it is shut in from all view of the outer world."

There arose a sound as of some one softly whistling. It came from the adjacent window, one in the gallery, which must have been open the same as mine. I did not like to lean forward and look. Another moment, and the whistling ceased; some one else appeared to have come up, and voices in conversation supervened. They were those of Lady Chandos and her son, and I became an involuntary hearer of what troubled me much.

"This is one of Emily's wild actions," said Lady Chandos. "She knows quite enough of our unhappy secrets to be sure that a stranger is not wanted at Chandos."

"Look for the most improbable thing in the world, mother, before you look for discretion or thought in Emily," was the reply of Mr. Chandos. "But this is but a young girl, unsuspicious naturally from her age and sex: Emily might have introduced a more dangerous inmate. And it may happen that——"

"I know what you would urge, Harry," interrupted the voice of Lady Chandos. "But there's no certainty. There cannot be: and it is most unfortunate that Emily should have brought her here. Every night, night by night as they come round, I lie awake shivering; if the wind does but move the trees, I start; if an owl shrieks forth its dreary note, I almost shriek with it. You know what we have cause to fear. And for a stranger to be sleeping in the house!"

"Yes, it is certainly unfortunate."

"It is more than that; it is dangerous. Harry, I have never, I hope, done a discourteous thing, but it did occur to me to put this young girl to sleep on the servants' side of the house. I think her being so ladylike in appearance saved her from it, not my good manners. I don't know what to be at."

Mr. Chandos made no reply.

"I wish I had done it!" resumed Lady Chandos. "But there's another thing—Emily might object: and to have any fuss would be worse than all. Still, look at the risk—the stake! Is it too late, do you think, Harry? Would it do to change her room now?"