“That is the nuisance of having a handsome house,” he said; “all the fools in the country think they have a right to come and see it. I have no doubt these impertinent intruders will go away quite angry that we choose to keep our house to ourselves. I do not know what the world is coming to. But whom have we here?”
Two men were approaching, following the butler, who was a very solemn personage, looking like a bishop at the least, but who this time was pale and scared, with a curious look of warning and alarm. The men who followed at first only conveyed to the beholder the impression that they were “not gentlemen.” As, however, they advanced closer an indefinable air about them began to take effect upon Sir Alexis, as it seemed to have done upon his servant. The paleness of his face increased till it grew ashen-grey.
“Had you not better go in, Innocent?” he said hoarsely, laying his hand once more on her shoulder; but his voice was strange, not like the gentle tone in which he usually gave her his instructions, and Innocent kept her place by him, falling a step behind him, but showing no other appearance of embarrassment or shyness. She was not looking at them, but saw vaguely that the new-comers were not interesting to her. She waited because her husband waited, to see what they wanted. It was an interruption—but interruptions did not affect Innocent as they do most people. “The Miller’s Daughter” and the lingering warmth of the spring afternoon would wait.
“Two—gentlemen, Sir Alexis—to speak with you,” said the butler, standing aside with an air of fright. He did not go away when he announced them in this simple way, but stood still, like a man paralyzed, not seeming to know what he did.
Shabby men—not such men as had any right to penetrate there—into that region of refinement and splendour. They kept very close to each other. One of them, the shabbiest of the two, kept so close on his companion’s track that their shadows fell into one along the grass. The other cleared his throat, shifted from one foot to another, took out his handkerchief, and wiped his face. He was embarrassed and uncertain.
“Is there anything in which I can serve you, gentlemen?” said Sir Alexis, with a voice so strangely altered by restrained excitement that even Innocent looked up at him wondering, not recognizing the sound.
“I don’t want to do nothing disagreeable,” said the foremost, “or to make any unpleasantness as can be spared. It is an ’orrible business, make the best of it as you can. We won’t give no trouble as we can help, Sir Alexis. She may go in her own carriage, and you may go along with her, if you please. But I can’t disguise from you as my lady must come with us. I don’t know how much you knows about it—and I don’t doubt as one way or other she’ll get off——”
“What is the meaning of this?” said Longueville. O God! how well he knew what it meant! He made a step forward in front of his wife by instinct, then stopped short in the confusion of impotence, knowing that he could do nothing, and that his only policy was to submit.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said the man, moulding his hat in his hands with real embarrassment. “I feels for you with all my heart. I have my warrant all in order. You shan’t be deceived nohow—and anything as we can do to make the blow less ’eavy and spare ill-convenience you may calculate upon. But I have to do my duty——”
“Of course, you must do your duty,” said Sir Alexis, pale, but nerving himself for the worst. “But, my good fellow, here is evidently some mistake. What”—he paused with an effort, for his lips were parched—“what—do you mean?—whom—do you seek here?”