"Is he going to be shot?" I asked, impulsively, of Mr. Chandos.
"Oh no. A farmer living near has promised to take care of him."
But the tone was not quite so free as usual, and I said no more.
CHAPTER XIII.
A SHOCK.
The time passed monotonously. Always looking upon myself as an intruder, an unwelcome interloper, I could not feel at home at Chandos. A letter arrived in course of post from Emily de Mellissie, saying she had found her husband certainly ill, but not as much so as "la mère" had been willing to lead them to expect. In a few days she should write and fix the date of her return. I was at a loss what to do in more senses than one. Not liking to sit down to the piano uninvited—and no one did invite me—it remained closed. Now and then, when I knew that neither Lady Chandos nor her son was at home, I would play quietly for a few minutes—stealthily might be the best term. Twice Lady Chandos took me for a drive; she went herself every day; generally taking Mrs. Chandos. The latter I very rarely saw at any time.
And so I was reduced to walking and reading. Newspapers, books, and reviews lay about the room. Had I been anything of a dressmaker, I should have made up the dresses bought in Paris, failing the money to give them out; as it was, they lay in my large trunk, unmade. Mr. Chandos had told me the books in the library were at my service, and I chose some of them.
One morning, when I had gone in to get a book, Lady Chandos, passing the door, saw me and came in. I was standing before a book-case in the darkest part of the room; before which the inner curtains had always been drawn. They were undrawn now, but the doors were locked as usual.
"Are you searching for a book, Miss Hereford?"
"Yes, madam. Amidst so many——"
The sight of Lady Chandos's face caused my sentence to fail. The evident astonishment with which she gazed on the book-case; the displeased, nay, the dismayed, expression of her countenance, was something curious. In my timidity, I feared she might think I had undrawn the curtains. There appeared to be books of all kinds, shapes, and sizes, inside; pamphlets and loose papers. Mr. Chandos happened to come out of his room, and she called him.