Recrossing the road, and passing the inn corner, Anthony got into the fields on his way to Greylands' Rest. They were pleasanter than the road that sunshiny afternoon. He walked along in deep thought, deliberating on what he should say.
Ah, if he could but have seen behind him! A double shadow followed him--as the poet Hood wrote of Miss Kilmansegg going upstairs to her doom. His own natural shadow and another. Nearer and nearer it had been gradually drawing as the days went on; and now on this day it lay ready to close on him--as it would close ere the clock had told many more hours: the dark, dreadful, ominous shadow of death. Of a death done in darkness and secret.
In the last field, side by side with the avenue that led to Greylands' Rest, while Anthony was wondering whether he should be permitted to see his uncle or not, his uncle suddenly stood in front of him, coming through the little gateway that led into the field.
The Master of Greylands, erect, well dressed, handsome, would have passed him with a slight nod, but Anthony put himself in his way.
"Uncle James, I beg your pardon; I would not wish to be rude; but will you allow me to speak a few little words to you?"
"I am in a hurry," said Mr. Castlemaine.
"Will you give me then a short interview at your house this evening? Or to-morrow morning, if that will suit you better."
"No," replied Mr. Castlemaine.
"Twice I have been to Greylands' Rest, asking to see you, Uncle James; and twice have I been denied. Though the last time I think you were at home, and that you saw me from the window."
"You cannot have anything to say to me that I wish to hear, or that would be profitable to yourself," returned the Master of Greylands "for that reason I was denied to you. Our first interview was not so satisfactory that we need wish for another."