"'Oh, mither! mither I've brocht hameA bonnie bride upon my steed,Sae lift her o'er the lintel stane,An'brake a bannock o'er her heid.'"'Oh, bairnie, syn the wand beganNane saw sic sicht o' muckle wae,Where gat ye, son, this witch wuman,Wi gowden hair an' skin o' snaw?'"'Oh, mither, she's a Chrisom lassWha by the Kelpie's burn did stray,Wi buke an' bell an' holy massI wedded her at break o' day.'"'Oh, bairnie, she's nae Chrisom child,Sae evil glowers her een tae see,She is a speerit fra the wild,An brings but dule tae you an' me.'"
"'Oh, mither! mither I've brocht hame
A bonnie bride upon my steed,
Sae lift her o'er the lintel stane,
An'brake a bannock o'er her heid.'
"'Oh, bairnie, syn the wand began
Nane saw sic sicht o' muckle wae,
Where gat ye, son, this witch wuman,
Wi gowden hair an' skin o' snaw?'
"'Oh, mither, she's a Chrisom lass
Wha by the Kelpie's burn did stray,
Wi buke an' bell an' holy mass
I wedded her at break o' day.'
"'Oh, bairnie, she's nae Chrisom child,
Sae evil glowers her een tae see,
She is a speerit fra the wild,
An brings but dule tae you an' me.'"
Sir Guy was humming this gruesome ballad as the train neared Denfield Station, where news of their arrival had already preceded them, and the Errington tenantry, in a state of high excitement, were waiting to welcome the young couple home.
Blithe and happy, with a faint roseate tinge in her pale cheeks, arising from a natural feeling of anticipation, Alizon sat opposite to her husband, who was gazing fondly at her, and the glint of her golden hair and the whiteness of her skin set him thinking of that weird old ballad, sung to him in childish days by an old Scotch nurse full of the haunting superstitions of the North.
"What on earth are you muttering about, Guy?" asked Alizon, in a puzzled tone, as she heard him crooning this melancholy strain.
"Only an old song about a bride's home-coming," he replied gaily, and thereupon repeated to her all he remembered of the legend, the foreboding strain of which made his wife, sensitive in a great measure to supernatural hintings, shudder nervously.
"Don't, Guy, don't tell me any more," she said apprehensively, putting her gloved hand over his mouth. "It's a bad omen."
"What, are you so superstitious as that?" he replied, kissing her hand. "Do you think you are the witch-woman of the ballad, destined to bring woe to Errington?"
"No! No! I hope not! I trust not!" cried Lady Errington, shrinking back with a vague dread in her eyes, "but I am a little superstitious. I think everyone is more or less, and my family has been so terribly unfortunate that I am afraid of bringing you bad luck."
"Nonsense! I don't mind the bad luck a bit, as long as you come along with it," said her husband, soothingly. "I wish I hadn't put these ideas into your foolish little head. You must have nothing but bright thoughts to-day, my dearest, for this is your home-coming, and I hear we are to have a great reception."
"Tell me all about it," asked Lady Errington, recovering herself with an effort.
"Oh, that would take too long, besides I'm as ignorant as you are; but there are to be banners and flowers and music and all that sort of thing, you know, and I expect old Welstarler the Rector will read us an address. Then, of course, everyone will have a tuck-out at the Hall, and there is to be a dance in the evening down the village. All Denfield's going to have a high old time, so, for once in your life you'll be received like a royal personage."
"Don't make me nervous."
"Pooh! there's nothing to be nervous about. Just smile and look sweet, I'll do all the patter."
"The what?"
"Patter! talk you know. I'm afraid it is slangy, but very expressive all the same. By Jove, the train's slowing down, we'll soon be home now. There's the square tower of Denfield Church, and yonder, Alizon!--here, quick--on the right--that white wing of a house. That's our place."
Sir Guy was quite excited, and chattered like a schoolboy home for his holidays, whilst Alizon, for once aroused from her coldness, stood near him, leaning her head on his shoulder, and looked out of the window at the various objects of interest, as the train steamed slowly onward.
At last they arrived at Denfield.
The little railway station was gaudy with bunting, much to the astonishment of the prosaic folks in the train, who could not understand the reason of such unusual decorative splendour, and as the train went on immediately Sir Guy and his wife alighted, they had no time to find out what the excitement was all about, therefore departed more in the dark than ever.
The station-master, who had known Sir Guy from boyhood, was much flattered at being shaken hands with, and presented to Lady Errington, to whom some children offered a charming bouquet of wild flowers.
Outside the station their carriage with four horses was waiting, and they got in amid the cheers of the villagers, who mustered here in strong force. Sturdy farmers, mounted in good style, labourers, looking forward to unlimited beer, women, in the brightest of dresses, talking shrilly among themselves of the beauty of the bride, school-children, jubilant at an unexpected holiday, all these were present, with banners, flags, and flowers unlimited. A proud man that day was the old coachman, as he guided the prancing horses through the long lane of happy faces, with his master and mistress sitting in the carriage behind, responding to the acclamations resounding on all sides, while from the grey, old church tower rang a peal of joy-bells.
After all, let people pretend to despise it as they may, popularity is a very pleasant thing, and it made life appear very bright to this young couple, receiving such an uproarious welcome, instead of stealing homeward amid indifferent faces. Despite the howlings of Radicals, the spread of socialism, the groanings about agricultural depression, the bond between landlord and tenant is too kindly, and too deeply ingrained to yield readily to the mob-shriekings for equality and equal division of land. Sir Guy was a great favourite in the county, and the Erringtons had been gentry at the Hall for many centuries, so the sturdy British yeomen and kindly neighbours of the young pair determined to make their home-coming as pleasant as possible--and succeeded.
Driving through the quaint, narrow street of the village, followed by a long train of horsemen, all the houses on either side were gay with flags and flowers and handkerchiefs waving from the narrow casements. Flowers strewed the dusty road under the feet of the horses, the village band, in bright uniforms, playing "Home, Sweet Home," on their brass instruments, with mighty strength of lungs, hearty cheers from hundreds of willing throats, loud clashings from the bells overhead, mad with joy, and at the entrance to the Park a triumphal arch of evergreens, with the word "Welcome" inscribed thereon.
Under this arch waited a gallant company of horsemen in pink, for Sir Guy was a prominent member of the Hunt, and his brother Nimrods gave him a hearty greeting to his paternal acres. Then, when the crowd had cheered themselves hoarse, the old Rector, silver-haired and kindly-faced, read an address to the happy pair wishing them long life and happiness, to which Sir Guy responded in suitable terms, standing up in the carriage, his hat off, and his bright, young face flushed with excitement.
Up the long avenue, still followed by the huntsmen, the farmers, and the villagers more flags overhead among the green boughs of the beech-trees, more flowers on the dusty road below, and at length the wide space before the house and the long façade of Errington Hall, with its tall gables, its innumerable diamond-paned windows, its slender turrets and weather-stained stacks of chimneys.
Cheers from the servants, waiting in two long lines to welcome their new mistress, with whose sweet face they fell in love at once. Sir Guy then helped his wife to alight, and they both stood on the threshold of their new home, whilst a speech of welcome was made by the oldest inhabitant, prompted by the village schoolmaster, to which the young baronet responded with a few manly and straightforward words.
The band then played a noisy quick step, which inspired the villagers to further cheering, and the gentry, having seen the Erringtons safely home, rode off to their different residences, while the tenantry and villagers all rejoiced and made merry on the lawn in front of the terrace.
A blue sky above, a green earth below, happy faces all around, kindly voices sounding in her ears, and her husband by her side, it was no wonder that Alizon Errington, daughter of a social pariah, felt her heart swell with gratitude towards God, who had guided her safely to such a pleasant haven of joy and kindliness.
But it all came to an end at last, and after the tenantry had eaten and drank as much as they possibly could at Sir Guy's expense, they all went down to the village to finish up the evening with dancing and fireworks. The Erringtons, quite tired out, were left alone standing on the terrace watching the crowd as it melted away in the coming shadows, and the husband, putting a kindly arm round his wife, felt that this was the brightest period of his life.
Suddenly Alizon, who looked pale and worn out with excitement, burst into a passionate flood of tears, as she leaned against her husband's breast.
"My dearest," cried Guy, in alarm, "what is the matter?"
"Nothing," she sobbed, putting her arms round his neck, "only--only I am so happy."
"You've got a curious way of showing it," said Guy, cheerfully, although his own eyes were now rather wet.
"Come, come, Alizon, you must not give way like this. You are tired after your journey and all this excitement. If Aunt Jelly were here, I'm afraid she would prescribe her favourite port wine," he added jestingly.
Alizon laughed at this, dried her eyes, and they both went inside to dress for dinner.
A very pleasant little meal they had, in the old-fashioned dining-room, with the staid faces of the family portraits staring down at their frivolous descendants. Guy made his wife drink some famous champagne, which was the special pride of the Errington cellar.
"I believe in fizz myself," he said sagely, holding his glass up to the light. "Aunt Jelly pins her faith to port, but this is quite as good and not so heavy. Look at all those ancestors of mine frowning down on us, Alizon. No doubt if they could speak they would denounce our conduct as frivolous."
"I'm very glad they can't speak then," replied Lady Errington gaily. "Perhaps, however, they appear at midnight. Do they? This place looks like a haunted house."
Guy shrugged his shoulders.
"No! We haven't got a family ghost. It's a great pity, isn't it? Ghosts generally run in families who have been bad lots, but the Erringtons have always been a steady-going set, so we haven't got even a haunted room, or a gruesome Johnnie with a clanking chain."
"I don't know if that's to be regretted," answered his wife, as she arose from the table; "besides, no one believes in ghosts now-a-days."
"A good many people do not, but I firmly believe you do."
Lady Errington laughed a little nervously.
"No! I certainly believe in presentiments, but not in ghosts--there's a great difference between the two. Are you coming with me now?"
"Yes! you surely do not want me to sit in solitary state over my wine?"
"Certainly not, and as it is such a pleasant evening, let us go outside on the terrace."
"You must wrap yourself up, Alizon," said Guy, anxiously, "the air is very keen here."
He sent a servant for her shawl, and in a few minutes they were strolling up and down the terrace, arm in arm, not talking much, but enjoying each other's company and the reposeful silence of the hour.
It was an exceptional night for November, in England, being still and restful with a moist, warm feeling in the air, and a gentle wind stirring the distant trees. No moon, no stars were visible, as the sky was hidden by heavy masses of clouds which seemed to press down on the weary earth, and a kind of luminous twilight was spread around, which made everything loom strange and spectral in its half-light.
The warm, yellow light from the drawing-room poured out through the open windows on to the terrace, and away beyond the lawns, the flower beds, and the great masses of beech, elm, and oak lay swallowed up in the dusky shadows. The wind rustled the dry leaves from the trees, and made the great boughs shiver with complaining sighs, as though they dreaded the coming of winter, while there was a salt feeling in the air, coming from the distant sea, and, at intervals, the dull, muffled roar of the surf, beating on the lonely coast.
"This is not like Italy," said Alizon to her husband, as they stood arm in arm, peering into the shadows, "and yet there is a kind of similarity. This is the terrace of Villa Tagni, beyond the trees are the distant mountains and that strip of luminous ground is the lake."
"I'm afraid I haven't your imagination, my dear," he answered comically, "or, perhaps, I know the place too well, but I've got a strong feeling that I'm not in Italy, but in England, and, moreover, that I am at home."
"It's a very pleasant feeling."
"Yes! I think even the most inveterate Bohemian, Eustace, for instance, must experience a home-sickness sometimes."
"Has your cousin any home?"
"Oh, yes! At least, he owns a kind of tumble-down old ruin about four miles from here. It overlooks the sea, and is a most dismal place. Eustace visits it about once in a blue moon, but I don't think he likes it. It's a haunted place, if you like."
"Haunted by what?"
"Oh, I don't know. There's some sort of a ghost, who makes himself objectionable--by-the-way, I'm not sure that it isn't a lady ghost, with a rustling of silken skirts. But then ghosts have no sex."
"You seem to be well up in the subject," said his wife, a little drily, as they re-entered the house.
"Not at all. I only know folk lore in a desultory sort of manner. But when you get to know all the people round about here, you'll be told the most gruesome stories."
"I suppose for the next few weeks we won't have a moment of peace."
"It's very probable," replied Guy coolly, "and then we'll have to return all the visits. It's a deuce of a nuisance, but one must do it. We owe it to our position.
"I never heard that last phrase till I married you," said Lady Errington, a little sadly.
"Why did not your father----?"
"My father! you forget, Guy. I am the daughter of a pariah."
He took her in his strong, young arms, and kissed her fondly.
"You are my wife, and the mistress of Errington Hall."
"This ghost from the pastI tremble to seeBehind me I castThis ghost from the past,Life's pleasant at last,So let there not beThis ghost from the pastI tremble to see."
"This ghost from the past
I tremble to see
Behind me I cast
This ghost from the past,
Life's pleasant at last,
So let there not be
This ghost from the past
I tremble to see."
Errington Hall, hidden in the green heart of its noble woods, was a building of very mixed architecture, displaying in its incongruities the various dispositions and tastes of the different owners who had lived therein. The original structure was evidently the large hall (from whence the building took its name) which had been erected by the first Errington after the Battle of Bosworth Field, when England was once more settling down to domesticity, after the tumult and strife of the Wars of the Roses. To this noble room, lofty, majestic, and sombre, the various masters of the Hall had added other and smaller rooms, long, winding corridors, and innumerable outhouses, as the fancy took them, or as their needs required them, so that the centre apartment was quite lost amid the huge wings and gables which surrounded it on all sides. The result was a bizarre combination which made the old mansion wonderfully attractive to architects and archeologists, while the lapse of centuries had mellowed the whole mass into one delicate tone of warm-hued loveliness.
From the central hall, with its carven roof, its long narrow windows, and quaint oaken gallery, ran many crooked corridors, full of unexpected angles, queer corners, sudden depressions, and shallow flights of steps, leading to long ranges of bedrooms, to the kitchen and the servants' wing. This portion was Elizabethan and the outside presented the usual Tudoresque aspect of battlements, venerable walls of grey stone, covered with ivy, diamond-paned windows, and grotesque gargoyles. After the building of this, the Erringtons were evidently too busy with the Parliamentary Wars to attend to their home, for the next portion added to the original fabric was of Queen Anne date, of dark-hued red brick, wide casements and heavy doors. Again there was an architectural interval, as the Hanoverian Erringtons were engaged in making their peace with the new German sovereigns of England for suspected Jacobite practices, and the last notable addition took place in the reign of the third George, when the front wing was added to the house, a vast façade of dull white stone with innumerable windows, ranges of heavy balustrades, and confused decorations in the Renaissance style, of nude figures, fantastic flowers, birds, scrolls and such-like dainty devices. A balustrade ran along the front of the roof, hiding the leads, and in the centre an elaborate carving of the Errington coat-of-arms, supported by two greyhounds, with the motto, "Curro, Capio, Teneo." A broad terrace, with statues and urns thereon, stretched from end to end, and a double flight of marble steps led downward to the smooth, green lawn, from whence the great white pile standing on its hill presented a noble appearance. The Victorian Erringtons added but little to the house, for the simple reason, that the builder of the Renaissance wing had not only exhausted the family resources in doing so, but had encumbered the estate with heavy mortgages, which his descendants had not yet paid off. Sir Frederick Errington had a turn for amateur gardening, and added long lines of hot-houses to the side of the house, and also a kind of winter garden, while Sir Guy had done his share in the adornment of the place, by building a handsome range of stables. Altogether it was a wonderfully fine place, but far too expensive and costly for the Errington rent-roll, which was not particularly large. So there it stood, a monument of vanity and folly, which often made its present possessor curse his bad luck in owning such a white elephant.
The interior was quite in keeping with the palatial exterior, for the state apartments, situated in the front wing, were of enormous size, splendidly furnished, but which looked lonely in the extreme unless full of company, a gaily-dressed crowd being needed to set them off to advantage. The Errington family were proud of these state-rooms, which were really wonderfully imposing, but, except on grand occasions, when they were thrown open to the county gentry, preferred to inhabit a smaller range of rooms on the western side, which were more comfortable, both as regards size and furniture, than the chilly splendours of the great apartments.
One of these rooms had been especially fitted up for Alizon by her husband, a charming octagon-shaped apartment with windows looking on to a quaint garden set forth in the Dutch fashion, with trim symmetrical lines of box and sombre yew trees clipped into fantastic shapes, known by the name of "My Lady's Pleasaunce."
"I think this is delightful, Guy," said Alizon, as she stood in the garden with her husband; "it is so shut out from the world."
They were amusing themselves by exploring the great house, and Alizon was quite overwhelmed by the size and magnificence of everything. Range after range of splendidly furnished rooms shut up and left to the dust and spiders, lofty wide passages with figures in armour on either side, stained glass windows here and there in which blushed the Errington escutcheon. It was all angles, and turrets, and gables, and crooked windings, so that Alizon clung closely to Guy as they wandered through the lonely rooms, feeling quite afraid of the vastness of the building.
"It puts me in mind of Mrs. Radcliffe's stories," she said with a shudder, "there's something quite awesome about the place."
"Awesome? not a bit of it," replied Guy cheerfully, opening a shutter and letting a flood of sunlight into a room, "it requires living in, that's all. You see, dear, my parents died ages ago, and I've been living here very little, so the whole place has got a little musty. But now we're here we'll have more servants, and a lot of people to come and see us. That will wake the place up a bit."
"But it's so large, Guy. Why was it built so large?"
"I'm sure I don't know," said the young man somewhat ruefully, "it's a deuce of a barn, isn't it? The Erringtons always had a mania for building, and whenever they'd nothing else to do they added wings. More fools they, as it ran away with all the money and put these confounded mortgages on the property. This is a dear old place, and I'm very fond of it, but it's miles too big for us, and is a regular white elephant."
"It must take a lot of money to keep it up."
"It does! So much that there's none left for anything else. I wish to heaven I wasn't sentimental, or I'd pull down a lot of it."
"Oh, Guy!"
"Well, what is the use of all these empty rooms? It takes an army of servants to keep them clean, and for no purpose. We haven't got enough money to keep open house, or I could fill all these rooms with people I know, but what with this place, and the mortgages, and bad tenants, it's a deuce of a nuisance altogether. I wish someone would take the Hall off my hands as a museum, or an almshouse, after the style of Hampton Court."
"You wouldn't sell it?"
"No, I daresay I wouldn't. I can't do with it, and I can't do without it. It's a dead lock. But, if Aunt Jelly would only give up the ghost and leave us her tin, we could keep the whole shop going beautifully."
"I'm afraid there's no chance of that."
"No, there isn't. Aunt Jelly is one of those aggravating old women who'll see the end of the present century."
"Well, that's not far off," said Alizon mischievously.
"Too far off for us to get her money, my dear," replied Guy candidly. "I believe she's immortal."
They left the room in which they were standing and resumed their walk through the house, stopping in the picture gallery which contained the Errington portraits, and also a number of celebrated pictures, all of which Guy contemplated ruefully.
"Can't even sell these," he said with a groan. "Fancy, what humbug--they're all heirlooms, and I'd have to apply to Chancery to get permission, which I daresay they'd refuse. It takes me all my time to keep up this place and live decently, yet all this money is hanging on the wall in the shape of these pictures. It's awful bosh, just like making a child the present of a shilling on condition he doesn't spend it. Humbug!"
"What! would you sell your ancestors, like Charles Surface?"
"No, I wouldn't go so far as that. But these pictures are wasting their sweetness on the desert air in being shut up here, and, as I need money more than pictures, I would sell them if I could. I don't see much chance of doing so, however, for the Errington cousins--and I've got about a hundred--would come down on me as a lunatic if I did so. Hang them! I wish they'd this place to keep up on a small income, they wouldn't be so anxious to keep these miles of painted canvas. But never mind, while there's Aunt Jelly there's hope, so come along and look at the hall from the gallery. It's the best place to see it."
So they went along a narrow passage into the older portion of the house, and soon found themselves in the wide gallery running round the hall at a height of about forty feet. A wonderfully impressive place it was, with its lance-shaped windows, filled with stained glass, through which the pale sunlight streamed, casting fantastic patterns on the oaken floor. Between every window, shields, spears and battle axes, with faded banners drooping above them, telling of ancient wars and the days of chivalry, when the deserted hall was filled with men-at-arms and bold knights in steel armour, before the invention of gunpowder relegated their iron panoply to the obscurity of country houses and museums. At the upper end of the room a raised dais, above which a royal canopy and the Errington arms flashing in gilt splendour from the dusky shadows, while high above arose the pointed roof with its great oaken rafters faintly seen in the gloom. It was certainly a fine specimen of the mediæval ages and doubtless many stirring tales could be told of the generations that had feasted under its lofty roof, or departed from thence to harry the lands of weaker neighbours, as was the kindly fashion in those misnamed good old days.
"A wonderful old place, isn't it?" said Guy, as they stood looking from the height of the gallery at the immense space below, "and genuine too. None of the sham antiquity of Abbotsford here. All this is the real thing, and just as it was in the old days when the Erringtons wore those absurd suits of armour, and poked their neighbours' eyes out with those long spears."
"You ought to be very proud of your race, Guy."
"I don't see much to be proud of in them," he replied candidly, throwing his arm round his wife's waist, "they were a humdrum lot at best the Erringtons. Went to church, minded their own business, and left other people's wives alone. They always seemed to have been on the safe side in keeping their property, however, and if it hadn't been for their building craze, I'd be decently off. According to their ideas there was no place like home, however, and that is why they spent such a lot of money over it. I am proud of the dear old Hall, but I do wish it wasn't quite so large."
"Do you use this place at all?" asked Alizon as they left the gallery.
"Only for dances, and tenants' dinners," he answered carelessly; "it looks very pretty when it's full, but at present one would think it was haunted. Quite a mistake, as there isn't a single ghost in the whole place. A pity, isn't it, for this queer old house just looks a fit place for shadowy figures and gruesome legends."
"I suppose there are plenty of stories about the Hall."
"Oh yes! but very mild stories, I'm afraid, not even equal to the average shilling shocker. Errington Hall has no history which would delight novelists or antiquaries. Queen Elizabeth didn't stop here on a royal progress, Oliver Cromwell's Ironsides didn't besiege the place, and though I think the Hanoverian Erringtons were mixed up in Jacobite plots they hid neither Prince James nor Prince Charlie. We are a very prosaic lot, my dear, and although the whole house is romantic enough in appearance, there isn't a story about it that would frighten a five-year-old child."
By this time they were on the terrace in the pale November sunlight, and could see below the smooth green lawn surrounding the house, girdled by the ancient trees of the park, which were now shedding their leaves for winter time. The carriage drive swept round the front of the terrace in a graceful curve, and then disappeared into the green wood, while beyond the tops of the trees appeared the grey square tower of Denfield Church, sombre against the dull sky. Some pigeons, white as milk, were whirling aloft in the moist air, and the sun, invisible behind the grey clouds, diffused a pale chilly radiance, which made Alizon long for the blue skies and burning heat of Italy.
"Come inside, Alizon," said Sir Guy, seeing his wife shivering, "this is cold after the South, and you'd better lie down for a time after luncheon, as I daresay for the next week or two you'll have quite enough to do in receiving our neighbours."
What Guy said was true enough, and for the next few weeks Alizon had as much as she could do in receiving the county magnates, all eager to see Lady Errington, of whom they had heard much, but of whose father they had heard still more. Despite Sir Guy's lack of ready money the Errington estates were very large, the Errington position a very high one in the county, and many a daughter of the Shires would have been pleased to have become the mistress of Errington Hall, particularly as its master, young, handsome and debonnaire, was favourite enough with the gentle sex independently of his rank and position.
When, however, it came to be known that this eligible bachelor had married Alizon Mostyn, the county, at least the female part of it, felt vexed that an outsider should have carried off the matrimonial prize, and the provincial belles felt none too well disposed towards the young wife, although they masked their real feelings under many sweet smiles and smooth words.
The "Pepper Box," with its customary good manners, had set forth in its columns the story of Gabriel Mostyn, and although there was nothing in it but what redounded to Alizon's credit, yet the fact that she had such a scamp for a father was not desirable in itself. Sir Guy managed to put an end to the "Pepper Box" chatter by threatening to thrash Billy Dolser, and as that gentleman was getting rather tired of being horsewhipped he held his tongue, so nothing more was revealed in that quarter, but Society having got a pretty good idea of the Mostyn history pursued the whole affair to the end, and found out all Gabriel's iniquities and Alizon's filial affection. When Lady Errington therefore received the county families, she knew perfectly well that all these smooth smiling people were well acquainted with her history, and although she had nothing personally to fear from their venomous tongues, yet the fact that the history of her iniquitous father was known to them down to the minutest detail, made her position anything but a pleasant one.
The county, however, made a virtue of necessity, and seeing that Lady Errington was of good birth, and that there was nothing against her, whatever there might have been against her scamp of a father, made her welcome among them in the heartiest manner, although a few wiseacres shook their heads doubtfully over Sir Guy's wife.
"What's bred in the bone will come out in the flesh," they whispered one to the other, "and it's curious if she does not inherit some of her father's bad qualities as well as her mother's good ones."
Lady Errington guessed the somewhat unfriendly feeling they bore towards her because she had become mistress of Errington Hall, but spoke of it to no one, not even Guy, who never for a moment dreamt of such a thing, and was delighted to see how his neighbours seemed to like his wife. This calm, statuesque woman, with the impassive face, bore herself with stately grace towards the visitors that called at Errington Hall, and although they all respected her, yet her manner chilled them with its coldness, and no one professed any strong liking for her. The men admired her greatly, but thought her cold and haughty, while the ladies, finding she did not take an interest in their provincial frivolities, said disagreeable things behind her back, and smiled to her face, which did not for a moment deceive Alizon, as she knew what their friendship was worth.
No one could deny, however, that she was a beautiful woman, and filled her position admirably in every way, yet curiously enough everyone arrived at the same conclusion as Eustace, and pitied Sir Guy as a warm-hearted young man married to a statue. Lady Errington was not therefore an unqualified success, but her husband never perceived this and took all the lip service of his friends for gospel truth, while Alizon, although she guessed pretty well the true state of things, did not undeceive him.
She knew she was not disliked, as she had done her best to conciliate everyone, but on the other hand she knew perfectly well that a gulf lay between herself and these people which could not be bridged over in any way. They all wanted to take her to their bosom and gush over her, while she, cold, reserved and self-reliant, objected to the obvious hint of patronage in this desire; so although she received and made visits, went to all provincial gaities, and presided at her own dinner-table in returning hospitality, yet she felt she was an exile among these people, a stranger in a strange land, who could neither learn their ways nor make them understand her own.
In fact, now that the glamour of the honeymoon had worn off, there were times when even Sir Guy felt the chill of her manner towards him, and although he tried to analyse the feeling, never succeeded in doing so. She was perfect in every way, almost too perfect, and at times he had his doubts as to whether it would not have been wiser on his part to have married a common-place provincial belle than this ethereal creature, whose nature he vaguely perceived was utterly at variance with his own. Such ideas as these, however, he rejected as heretical against the woman he loved, and he assured himself with unnecessary vehemence that he had gained a woman who would be perfect in every way both as mother and wife. Therefore the county and Sir Guy were both pleased with Alizon in this somewhat doubtful fashion, and she, knowing the real mistrust she had innocently provoked by her icy reserve, did not trouble herself about it, but went calmly on her way, fulfilling her position as mistress of Errington Hall, and one of the great ladies of the place.
One event, however, took place which showed Guy that under her impassive demeanour there was a strong will and a considerable spice of temper, both of which came to light in the episode of Mrs. Veilsturm.
Everyone far and near had called at the Hall. Stalwart county squires with their comfortable wives and frivolous daughters, loud-voiced, hearty young men whose ideas rarely extended beyond the hunting-field, occasionally an effete inhabitant of Belgravia, whose ancestral acres were but rarely visited, meek curates who wanted Alizon to become the Lady Bountiful of the parish, and gay country damsels who revelled in lawn-tennis and slily copied Lady Errington's dresses with feminine subtlety--all these had called at the Hall and been received by Alizon with friendly reserve, after which she returned their visits in company with Guy, feeling she had done her duty. Nothing out of the way happened till Mrs. Veilsturm left her card.
They had been paying a visit to some county magnate, and on their return Alizon had gone inside, while Sir Guy remained without for a moment giving some directions to the grooms about the horses. Having done so he ran up the steps into the entrance-hall, to find his wife even paler than usual, standing by a small table looking at a card with a look of horror on her face.
"Why, what's the matter, dear?" he asked, coming forward anxiously, "is anything wrong?"
She handed him the card without a word, and having looked at the name, he glanced at her in puzzled surprise. "Well, what's wrong about Mrs. Veilsturm?" he said inquiringly. "She's a jolly sort of woman, isn't she?"
"Do you know her?" asked his wife coldly.
"No, I can't say I do personally. She came down while I was away and bought old Darton's place, about two miles from here. But what do you look so horrified at?"
"Come in here, Guy, and I'll tell you," answered Alizon, with an effort, and walked into the drawing-room, followed by her husband in a state of wonder as to what could have occurred to upset his wife.
Alizon sat down under the window, twisting her gloves in her hands with a look of anger on her face, while Guy stood near her with his tall hat on the back of his head, looking at her in a state of bewilderment.
"I never saw you so upset before, Alizon," he said, with an uneasy laugh; "is there anything particularly wrong about Mrs. Veilsturm--is she a leper, or is her character no better than it should be?"
"Have you heard anything against her character?"
"Not a word," replied Guy, promptly. "She's a great favourite with everyone. Her husband was a captain in some regiment that was stationed out at the Bermudas or Jamaica, and I believe he married her out there. When he died he left her well off, and she's a lively sort of woman, but I never heard anything against her morals."
"What about Major Griff?"
"Major Griff!--oh, he was a friend of her husband's, I believe, and wants to marry her, only she won't accept him. I hear that he is her trustee, and looks after her property for her; but what on earth do you know about her, Alizon?"
"I know too much to allow her to visit here."
"The deuce you do," cried Sir Guy, taking a seat, "and who told you anything about her?"
"My father," she replied quickly, turning her pale face towards him.
Sir Guy whistled, and looked thoughtfully out of the window, knowing well enough that Gabriel Mostyn's name being mentioned did not bode any good to Mrs. Veilsturm. He said nothing, however, as he judged it best to let his wife tell the story her own way, and that this course was the right one was proved by what followed.
"As you know, I attended my father during those four years when he was dying, and although I don't want to say a word against him, seeing that after all he was my father, yet, I heard sufficient from his own lips to convince me that his life had been a vile one. Not even the fact that I was his child prevented him boasting in my presence of his horrible actions, and although I invariably left the room when he began to talk like this, I could not help overhearing more than I cared to."
"I wonder you did not leave him altogether," said Sir Guy indignantly.
"He was my father after all," she replied simply. "No one would stay by him except me, and I could not let him die alone, like a dog."
Sir Guy shifted uneasily in his seat, finding a difficulty in making an answer.
"No, I suppose you couldn't," he answered reluctantly; "blood's thicker than water, but still--you are a good woman, Alizon."
Lady Errington smiled faintly and shook her head.
"Don't put me on a pedestal," she said, a trifle bitterly, "or you will find your goddess has feet of clay after all. Well, about Mrs. Veilsturm. I need not tell you all I heard about her, but only this. That my father knew her--intimately--and that her life before she set up for a woman of fashion in England, was not all that could be desired."
"Where did he meet her?" demanded Sir Guy abruptly.
"In South America. She is a Creole, you know, and when my father knew her she was not married to Captain Veilsturm. She may have lived decently since she became wife and widow, for all I know, but when she was in South America----"
Lady Errington broke off abruptly, and rose quickly to her feet.
"How dare she call on me--how dare she?"
"I daresay she thinks you know nothing about her," said Sir Guy, rising also.
"She knows I am Gabriel Mostyn's daughter, and that ought to be enough to make her keep away from me."
"But of what do you accuse her?"
"I accuse her of nothing, at present," said Alizon, looking steadily at him. "I only tell you that she is not a fit woman to cross the threshold of Errington Hall, and she will not do so while I am mistress here."
"What are you going to do then?"
"I'm going to return the card she had the audacity to leave here, and write her a note forbidding her to call again."
Sir Guy thought for a moment, and then spoke out.
"You are the best judge as to whom you make your friends, Alizon, but if you do this Mrs. Veilsturm will demand an explanation, and there will be a row."
Lady Errington paused with her hand on the door and looked back.
"Mrs. Veilsturm will not demand an explanation," she said coldly, "but if she wishes for one I can easily satisfy her on that point. But while I am mistress of Errington Hall if that infamous woman dares to come here I'll have her turned out by my servants."
"But she----"
"She!" echoed his wife decisively. "She will take the hint conveyed by the return of this card and keep a wide distance between Gabriel Mostyn's daughter and herself."
The door closed after her, and Guy, after a pause of amazement at the change in his usually calm wife, turned towards the window with a half frown on his face.
"She's got a temper after all," he said to himself, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "I might have guessed it. Sleeping volcanoes are always the worst when they do start."
"What! will she place her foot upon my neck,And hold me helpless, writhing in the dust?Nay, such a thing is folly at the best,'Tis ill to tamper with the meanest worm,For, serpent-like, I'll wound her in the heel,And when she falls from her magnificence,I'll twist my coils around her dainty throatAnd sting!--and sting!--and sting!--until she dies."
"What! will she place her foot upon my neck,And hold me helpless, writhing in the dust?Nay, such a thing is folly at the best,'Tis ill to tamper with the meanest worm,For, serpent-like, I'll wound her in the heel,And when she falls from her magnificence,I'll twist my coils around her dainty throatAnd sting!--and sting!--and sting!--until she dies."
"Who is Mrs. Veilsturm?"
A good many people asked this question, when a woman, black-browed, voluptuous, and imperious as Cleopatra, flashed like an unknown star into the brilliance of a London season four years ago. No one could answer this question, the quidnuncs for once were at fault, and although ladies in drawing-rooms and men in clubs set their wits to work to find out all about her, no one could give an opinion with certainty as to who she was, where she came from, and what was the source of her income.
The society papers, who usually know everything, could not unravel this riddle, and it was reserved for the indefatigable Billy Dolser to lift in some measure the veil which hung over the past of this beautiful enigmatical woman. Under the heading of "A Cleopatra of To-day," an article appeared in the "Pepperbox," setting forth a very delightful story which satisfied everyone except a few suspicious grumblers, but whether it was fact or fiction, no one was quite sure.
According to this veracious chronicle, Mrs. Veilsturm (or as the "Pepperbox," thinly veiling her identity, called her, Cleopatra) was a West Indian Creole, born in the island of Cuba, the daughter of a wealthy planter. Her parents died when she was young, and according to all reports, she lived a life of semi-barbaric magnificence in the somnolent Spanish island. Later, becoming tired of her secluded life, she went to Jamaica, and there met Captain Veilsturm, at that time reputed to be the handsomest man in the island. He married her, and for some time she reigned as Queen of the Regiment, but her husband dying suddenly of yellow fever, she left Jamaica, and came to England, intending with her great wealth to enter into London society.
In this laudable ambition she was helped by Major Griff, a well-known man about town, who had been in Veilsturm's regiment, and who, if report spoke truly, would have been glad to have married his lovely widow. Mrs. Veilsturm, however, did not care to tempt matrimony a second time, and refused the Major, who, nevertheless, remained her closest friend, for her deceased husband had made him his executor. So the wily Major looked after all the entire property of the husband (consisting of a small house in the country), and the large property of the wife (consisting of West Indian estates), to the mutual satisfaction of both himself and the widow.
Major Griff was invaluable to her in more senses than one, as he knew everyone and everything, and was enabled to float her successfully in London society through the influence of his friends.
How it was done the "Pepperbox" scribe did not venture to say, although he hinted that the Major's influence in inducing his friends to take up the lovely widow, was not due so much to their friendship as to the Major's possession of certain disagreeable secrets. However, let the means used be what they might, Mrs. Veilsturm obtained a social success in a select circle, and became quite the rage of the season. The Major's tactics and her own craftiness, added to her undeniable beauty, enabled her to take up an excellent position, and although the next season some people showed a desire to drop her, Mrs. Veilsturm was too clever to let them do so, and managed to confirm her social prestige in the most dexterous manner.
She had plenty of money, great beauty, a delightful house in Park Lane, and was an admirable hostess, so with this galaxy of virtue Society was fain to be content, and spoke well of her to her face, although behind her back they characterised her as an adventuress. It was dangerous to do this, however, as Major Griff was ubiquitous and, constituting himself her protector, dared any man or woman to speak evil of Cleopatra, whose character and life were above suspicion.
With certain reservations this was the story the "Pepperbox" told, and whether people chose to believe or doubt, it did not matter to Mrs. Veilsturm, who went serenely on her way, protected by the faithful Major. Some houses, however, were closed against her, as the Major was not omnipotent, and in these some disagreeable stories were told about the beautiful Creole, but Mrs. Veilsturm's set, although undeniably fast, was also as undeniably "in the swim," so she was supremely indifferent to such scandal.
As to the houses closed against her, she did not pose as an exiled Peri at the gates of a Paradise guarded by Mrs. Grundy, but set herself up in rebel authority over her own friends, and defied the ultra-exclusive people in every way. As they did not invite her to visit them in Paradise, she returned the compliment by not asking the pleasure of their company to--well, the other place, and as she gave most delightful entertainments, the dwellers in the Mrs. Grundy-guarded-Paradise could not help feeling rather annoyed. They looked down on Mrs. Veilsturm, they called her an adventuress, they wondered how any decent people could tolerate such a woman, and yet they regretted that the laws of social respectability forced them to ignore such an attractive woman.
This being the position of affairs, rebellious Cleopatra would, without doubt, have gained her ambition, and obliged even these jealously-guarded doors to be opened to her, but for an unfortunate rumour which originated no one knew where, and, creeping through society like a snake, raised its head and hissed disagreeable things regarding gambling.
Gambling!
Yes! Rumour, in the guise of bewigged old ladies over tea, and would-be juvenile old men over something stronger, said that Mrs. Veilsturm had very charming Sunday evenings, very charming indeed, but a trifle expensive to those not greatly blessed with this world's goods. At these Sunday evening receptions, at a late hour of the night, certain green-covered tables made their appearance, and such production led to the playing of nap, of unlimited loo, baccarat, and such like games, over which a good deal of money changed hands.
It was also observed that who ever lost, Major Griff did not, but that a good deal of the money on the tables managed to find its way into his pockets. This had nothing to do with Mrs. Veilsturm certainly, still it was curious that this wealthy woman should permit her house to be turned into a gambling saloon, for the sake of giving Major Griff a nice little income, so rumour once more set to work to solve the problem, and made several startling assertions.
First, that Society had been imposed upon, as Mrs. Veilsturm was by no means wealthy, and that the West Indian estates were a myth, emanating from the fertile brain of Major Griff.
Second, that the relationship between the beautiful Creole and the disinterested Major was by no means as artless as was supposed, and that the money gained by the Major went to keep up the house in Park Lane.
Third, that Mrs. Veilsturm and the Major were in partnership together for the purpose of making money, and that the woman's beauty and the man's skill were the stock-in-trade of the said partnership.
Then these disagreeable reports were whispered everywhere, and even Major Griff, astute and cunning as a fox, could not find anyone to whom he could give the lie; and despite his emphatic contradiction of such report; people began to fight shy of fascinating Mrs. Veilsturm, and the dainty little house in Park Lane.
The second season of Cleopatra in London, however, was nearly over, so Major Griff, being an old campaigner, knew that out of sight is out of mind, and determined to withdraw himself and his partner from town for a time, until the next year, when he hoped to come back to Mayfair, and proceed with more caution. Accordingly, Mrs. Veilsturm announced to her dearest friends in confidence (so that it would sure to be repeated) that she was tired of town, and was going to her little place at Denfield, which she did shortly before the end of the season, and the fact was duly chronicled in the Society papers.
The Major did not accompany her, as he did not want to give colour to the reports about his relationship with Mrs. Veilsturm, and moreover, wanted to hear the result of this dexterous move. The result was exactly as the astute Major calculated, for people began to say that Mrs. Veilsturm was greatly maligned, as the Major had not accompanied her into the country, and that had she been the adventuress she was asserted to be, she would not have left London, where she was reaping such a rich harvest, for a dull country house. The Major's diplomacy, therefore, was entirely successful, and Society was quite prepared to receive Mrs. Veilsturm when she chose to come back to Park Lane. So after the lapse of some weeks, Major Griff joined Mrs. Veilsturm at Denfield, to talk over the success of their clever move.
He found her in clover, for as no disagreeable rumours had found their way to this out-of-the-world locality, and she was known to be a leading lady in society (videlicet the Society papers), all the provincial gentry called upon her, and she visited at their houses, fascinating everyone with her brilliancy and beauty.
"Major Griff, a great friend of my poor husband," was duly introduced, and being an admirable sportsman, and a bold rider, soon succeeded in becoming as popular as Cleopatra, so he was perfectly satisfied with the attitude of things as he foresaw the return of the firm to London would be after the fashion of a triumphal entry. Provincial gentry were dull company, certainly, but a guarantee of respectability, and the fact that Mrs. Veilsturm was at all the great houses in the country would be duly chronicled in the papers, and being seen by the London folk, would shew that she was not an adventuress, but a lady of great wealth, moving in the best society.
Then Mrs. Veilsturm made a mistake.
Against the advice of the Major, who had known and detested Gabriel Mostyn, she called on Gabriel Mostyn's daughter and left her card, with the hope that the visit would be returned. On the evening of the day she had done this, she was waiting for dinner in the little drawing-room, and Major Griff, in evening dress, was lounging against the mantelpiece with a glass of sherry at his elbow, listening to her remarks.
A handsome woman was Mrs. Veilsturm, as she leaned back in a deep arm-chair, fanning herself slowly with all the grace and languor of a Creole. A dusky skin, masses of coal-black hair, with a suspicion of frizziness, betraying the African blood, large black eyes, a sensual, full-lipped mouth, and the figure of a Juno, she was a wonderfully handsome woman in a full-blooded way. Her arms and neck were beautifully proportioned, and dressed as she was, with the negro's love for bright tints, in a lemon-coloured dress, with great masses of crimson flowers at her breast and in her hair, she looked a beautiful imperious creature, with a touch of the treacherous grace of the tiger in the indolent repose of her lithe limbs. A painter would have admired her voluptuous form, a poet would have raved on the dusky beauty of her face, with the sombre light in the sleepy eyes; but no man who had any instinct of self-preservation would have trusted this feline loveliness, so suggestive of treachery and craft. Some highly imaginative man averred that Mrs. Veilsturm put him in mind of a snake, and certainly there was more than a resemblance to a serpent in the sinuous grace of her evil beauty.
As for Major Griff, he was a tall, dried-up man, like a stick; with a hard, handsome face, iron-grey hair and moustache, and keen eyes, which looked everyone straight in the face. A thorough scamp, it was true, yet with sufficient dexterity to hide his scampishness, and a military cut-and-dried brevity which disarmed suspicion. Some rogues fawn and supplicate to gain their ends, but not so the Major, who habitually grave, plain in his speech, and brusque in his manner, gave everyone the impression of being a blunt, straightforward soldier. He was stopping at a friend's house in the town of Starton, which was a short distance away, and had come over on a friendly visit to Mrs. Veilsturm, who lived mostly alone, as her house was not large enough to enable her to receive company. This did not matter, as she generally dined out every night, but on this special evening, the two had to consult about their plans, so Mrs. Veilsturm had refused an invitation with many thanks, but "you see I have to speak about business connected with my West Indian Estates with my trustee, Major Griff," and the givers of the invitation were quite impressed with an idea of her wealth. The West Indian Estates were a capital bait wherewith to gull people as, being at a distance, no one could deny their existence, and the very mention of them had a golden sound, suggestive of toiling slaves and untold riches.
"So you did do what I told you not to, Maraquita?" growled the Major, who called Mrs. Veilsturm by her Christian name when alone.
"If you mean in the way of calling upon Lady Errington, yes," she replied indolently, sweeping her sandal-wood fan to and fro and diffusing a subtle eastern perfume through the room.
She had a beautiful voice, full, rich and mellow, yet with a certain roughness which grew more pronounced when she became excited. Anyone would have been fascinated by this voluptuous beauty lounging in the chair, while the dreamy fragrance of the sandal-wood seemed to add to her rich, eastern look, but custom had habituated Major Griff to this barbaric loveliness, and he spoke curtly, being annoyed and making no effort to conceal his annoyance.
"You were wrong, quite wrong, I tell you," he observed, taking a sip of sherry.
"Do you think I'm a fool?" asked Mrs. Veilsturm harshly, with a frown.
"I do! What woman isn't--on occasions?" was the polite response.
Mrs. Veilsturm laughed in a sneering fashion, in nowise offended, as the private conversations of this precious pair were apt to be rather disagreeable at times, but the Major, always cool and imperturbable, knew better than to provoke the Creole's wrath, which resembled, in its force and terror, the storms of her native land.
"You are polite, I must say," said Maraquita, coolly, "but I'm used to your manners by this time, so we need not argue about them. Let us talk business, and tell me why you object to my leaving a card on Lady Errington, seeing that she is a great personage down here, and may be useful to us."
"You ask me a question of which you know the answer well enough," returned the Major deliberately. "Lady Errington is the daughter of Gabriel Mostyn, and I don't suppose you want your relationship with him raked up."
"I don't see there is much chance of that," she replied contemptuously. "Mostyn is dead, and his daughter knows nothing about me."
"Don't you be too sure of that," said Griff significantly. "This girl attended to her father for four years when he was ill, and Mostyn with his monkeyish nature was just the man to torture a woman by telling her all kinds of things of which she would rather have remained ignorant."
"Still, she was his daughter, and even Mostyn would hold his tongue about some things to her."
"Humph! I'm not so sure of that."
"Are you not?--I am."
The Major frowned, pulled his moustache, and then finishing his sherry at one gulp, spoke sharply.
"You appear to be sure of a good many things, Maraquita, but perhaps you will be kind enough to remember that union means strength, and that your well-being in the eyes of the world is of just as much importance to our schemes as my knowledge of human nature. If I hadn't made you leave London, things would have been said which would have closed every door against you."
"And what about yourself?" asked the Creole her dark eyes flashing dangerously as she shut her fan with a sharp click.
"The same thing precisely," retorted Griff; coolly. "People were beginning to think I knew too much about cards, so it was wise in me to have made an end of things as I did. Don't you make any mistake, Mrs. Veilsturm, I am no more blind to my own defects than I am to yours, and you have just as much right to pull me up if you catch me tripping as I have to keep an eye on your conduct. And let me tell you that your calling on Lady Errington is a mistake, as the good she can do to us is nothing to the harm she might do to you."
"Nonsense! I tell you she knows nothing."
"So you said before, and I hope she doesn't, but if she does there will be trouble."
"What can she do?" demanded Mrs. Veilsturm with supreme contempt.
"If she she knows anything, she can tell all her friends about that South American business."
"If she comes to measuring swords with me in that way," said Maraquita with vicious slowness, "I can tell a few stories about her late father which won't be pleasant for her to hear."
"Pish! what good will that do? You can't tell stories about Mostyn without inculpating yourself. It won't harm his memory, which is black enough. It will only harm you, and through you, me. No, no, Mrs. Veilsturm, I've too much at stake to risk the world finding out what we want kept quiet, and if Lady Errington does not return your call, put your cursed pride in your pocket and hold your tongue."
"I've got my wits about me as well as you," said Cleopatra coolly, "so you needn't lecture me as if I were a school-girl. Besides, my position is too strong in Society to be hurt by Lady Errington or any other silly fool of a woman."
"Your position, my dear," remarked Griff with cruel candour, "hangs by a thread, and that thread is Mr. William Dolser, of 'The Pepper Box.' He put in what I wanted, and made people shut their mouths, but if he turned nasty, he could find out quite enough to make them open them again."
"If he tried to, you could promise him a thrashing."
"That wouldn't do much good. He's used to the horsewhip."
"Then you could have an action for libel against the paper."
"And very nicely we'd come out of it. Whether we won or lost it would be the death-knell of our campaign in town. No! no, I'll keep The 'Pepper Box' in a good temper by judicious bribes, and you on the other hand, don't play with fire or you'll have the whole place in a blaze."
The dexterous arguing of Major Griff evidently impressed Mrs. Veilsturm, for she made no reply, but looked down frowning at one dainty foot in a high-heeled slipper that was resting on the green velvet foot-stool. She knew her partner was right in all he said, but with feminine persistence was about to renew the argument and have the last word, when a servant entered the room and presenting a letter to his mistress, left it again, closing the door noiselessly after him.
Mrs. Veilsturm, leaning back languidly in her chair, was about to open the letter, when Major Griff stopped her.
"Wait a moment, Maraquita," he said deliberately, with a certain anxious look on his face. "You know I often have an instinct as to how things will go?"
She bowed her head, but said nothing.
"I had an instinct that your calling on Lady Errington was a mistake, and that letter is from Lady Errington to tell you so."
Mrs. Veilsturm laughed scornfully as she tore open the envelope, but the Major, putting his hands behind his back, leaned against the mantelpiece, and looked steadily at her with a satisfied smile on his lips.
The woman had wonderful self-command, for as she read Lady Errington's curt note, no sign of anger escaped from her lips, but her dark skin flushed an angry red and a venomous smile curled the corners of her full mouth. Still she gave no further sign of being moved, but having read the note through in the most deliberate manner, handed it to the Major with a low, fierce laugh.
Major Griff adjusted his eyeglass carefully, smoothed out the sheet of cream-coloured paper, and read as follows in a subdued voice: