“There is a man called Soane who tells me sometimes that he was once a gamekeeper at what he calls ‘the big house.’ I have always supposed him to be my father until within the last year. But recently, when he has been drinking heavily, he sometimes tells me that my name is not Soane but Fane.... Did you ever know of such a man?”
“No. There were gamekeepers about.... No. I cannot recall—and it is impossible! A gamekeeper! And your mother! The man is mad! What in God’s name does all this mean!——”
He began to tremble, and his white forehead under the clustering curls grew damp and pinched again.
“If you are Eileen’s daughter——” But his face went dead white and he got no further.
People were approaching from behind them, too; voices grew distinct in conversation; somebody turned up another lamp.
“Do sing that little song again—the one you sang for Mr. Skeel,” said Lee Barres, coming up to the piano on her brother’s arm. “Mrs. Gerhardt has been waiting very patiently for an opportunity to ask you.”
XXIV
A SILENT HOUSE
The guests from Hohenlinden had departed from Foreland Farms; the family had retired. Outside, under a sparkling galaxy of summer stars, tall trees stood unstirring; indoors nothing stirred except the family cat, darkly prowling on velvet-shod feet in eternal search of those viewless things which are manifest only to the feline race—sorcerers all, whether quadruped or human.