Walk fast! And to Greylands! Could poor Anthony Castlemaine have foreseen the black pall of Fate, already closing upon him like a dreadful shadow, he had turned his steps away from Greylands for ever.
[CHAPTER VII.]
IN THE MOONLIGHT.
White clouds were passing over the face of the blue sky, casting their light and their shade on the glorious sea. Not for a minute together did the sea present the same surface; its hue, its motions, and its ripples were for ever changing. Now it would be blue and clear almost as crystal; anon, green and still; next, sparkling like diamonds under the sunlight: and each aspect seemed more beautiful than that which it had displaced.
To Anthony Castlemaine, gazing at it from his bedroom at the Dolphin Inn, no object in nature had ever seemed so beautiful. Not the vineyards of his native land; not the sunny plains of Italy; not the grand picturesque mountains of Switzerland: all these he had been accustomed to from his youth, and they were fair to look upon: but to him they were as nothing, compared with this wide, wondrous, ever-changing sea.
Some days, a very few, had elapsed since his visit to Stilborough, told of in the last chapter. Another week had come in, and this was the Tuesday in it: destined to be a most fatal day for more than one person connected with our story. The snow-storm he had anticipated, in his homeward walk that afternoon, had passed off without falling; the cold itself seemed on the next day to have taken its departure. With that variable caprice that distinguishes our insular climate, the biting frost, the keen east wind, that had almost cut people through, had given, place to the warm, cheering weather of a balmy spring.
Anthony Castlemaine had opened the casement window to admit the genial air, the fresh sea-breeze, and stood there in profound thought. On the table lay a letter he had just written. Its seal of black wax was stamped with the Castlemaine crest, and it was addressed to his native place, Gap, Dauphiné. Some shouting arose on the beach, drawing his attention. A fishing-boat was preparing to put out; one of her men had not come down, and the two others and the shrill boy were raising their voices to make tie laggard hear. He went dashing out of the Dolphin Inn, just under the view of Anthony.
Anthony Castlemaine was in perplexity. He did not see his way any clearer before him than he had seen it when he first came. That Greylands' Rest was legally his he entertained no doubt of; but to prove it was another matter. He and Mr. Castlemaine had met one day near the Dolphin; they had talked for a few minutes, but Anthony could make out nothing. Twice since then he had presented himself at Greylands Rest, and Mr. Castlemaine had been denied to him. It was quite evident he meant to have nothing more to do with Anthony.
The waves of the sea sparkled and rippled; the sun came out from behind a fleecy cloud, and shone with renewed strength; a beautiful vessel in the distance was passing with all her sails set.
"It is very strange behaviour," mused Anthony. "If the estate belongs in truth to my uncle James, why can he not show me that it does? His not showing it almost proves of itself that it is mine. I must get to see him: I cannot stay in the dark like this."