"I must make the most of this momentous and startlingdisclosure. I shall spare no pains to come at the truth," said he,energetically. "Meanwhile, my dear sir, for the sake of justice and ofmercy, observe secrecy. Leave me to sift this matter; give no noteanywhere that we suspect. Observe this reserve and security, and with itdetection will follow. Breathe but one word, and you arm the guilty withdouble caution, and turn licentious gossip loose upon the fame of aninnocent and troubled family. Once more I entreat--I expect--I imploresilence--silence, at least, for the present--silence!"
"I quite agree with you, my dear Mr. Marston," answered Dr. Danvers. "Ihave not divulged one syllable of that poor wretch's confession, save toyourself alone. You, as a magistrate, a relative of the murderedgentleman, and the head of that establishment among whom the guiltrests, are invested with an interest in detecting, and powers of siftingthe truth in this matter, such as none other possesses. I clearly see,with you, too, the inexpediency and folly of talking, for talking'ssake, of this affair. I mean to keep my counsel, and shall mostassuredly, irrespectively even of your request--which should, however,of course, have weight with me--maintain a strict and cautious silenceupon this subject."
Some little time longer they remained together, and Marston, buried instrange thoughts, took his leave, and rode slowly back to Gray Forest.
Months passed away--a year, and more--and though no new characterappeared upon the stage, the relations which had subsisted among the oldones became, in some respects, very materially altered. A gradual anddisagreeable change came over Mademoiselle de Barras's manner; heraffectionate attentions to Mrs. Marston became less and less frequent;nor was the change merely confined to this growing coldness; there wassomething of a positive and still more unpleasant kind in the alterationwe have noted. There was a certain independence and carelessness,conveyed in a hundred intangible but significant little incidents andlooks--a something which, without being open to formal rebuke orremonstrance, yet bordered, in effect, upon impertinence, and eveninsolence. This indescribable and provoking self-assertion, implied inglances, tones, emphasis, and general bearing, surprised Mrs. Marston farmore than it irritated her. As often as she experienced one of thesestudied slights or insinuated impertinences, she revolved in her own mindall the incidents of their past intercourse, in the vain endeavor torecollect some one among them which could possibly account for theoffensive change so manifest in the conduct of the young Frenchwoman.
Mrs. Marston, although she sometimes rebuked these artful affronts by agrave look, a cold tone, or a distant manner, yet had too much dignity toengage in a petty warfare of annoyance, and had, in reality, nosubstantial and well-defined ground of complaint against her, such aswould have warranted her either in taking the young lady herself to task,or in bringing her conduct under the censure of Marston.
One evening, it happened that Mrs. Marston and Mademoiselle de Barras hadbeen left alone together. After the supper-party had dispersed, they hadbeen for a long time silent. Mrs. Marston resolved to improve theTate-a-Tate, for the purpose of eliciting from mademoiselle anexplanation of her strange behavior.
"Mademoiselle," said she, "I have lately observed a very marked change inyour conduct to me."
"Indeed!" said the Frenchwoman.
"Yes, mademoiselle; you must be yourself perfectly aware of that change;it is a studied and intentional one," continued Mrs. Marston, in a gentlebut dignified tone. "Although I have felt some doubt as to whether itwere advisable, so long as you observe toward me the forms of externalrespect, and punctually discharge the duties you have undertaken, to openany discussion whatever upon the subject; yet I have thought it betterto give you a fair opportunity of explaining frankly, should you desireto do so, the feelings and impressions under which you are acting."
"Ah, you are very obliging, madame," said she, coolly.
"It is quite clear, mademoiselle, that you have either misunderstood me,or that you are dissatisfied with your situation among us: your conductcannot otherwise be accounted for," said Mrs. Marston, gravely.
"My conduct--_ma foi!_ what conduct?" retorted the handsome Frenchwoman,confidently, and with a disdainful glance.
"If you question the fact, mademoiselle," said the elder lady, "it isenough. Your ungracious manner and ungentle looks, I presume, arise fromwhat appears to you a sufficient and well-defined cause, of which,however, I know nothing."
"I really was not aware," said Mademoiselle de Barras, with asupercilious smile, "that my looks and my manner were subjected to sostrict a criticism, or that it was my duty to regulate both according toso nice and difficult a standard."
"Well, mademoiselle," continued Mrs. Marston, "it is plain that whatevermay be the cause of your dissatisfaction, you are resolved againstconfiding it to me. I only wish to know frankly from your own lips,whether you have formed a wish to leave this situation. If so, I entreatyou to declare it freely."
"You are very obliging, indeed, madame," said the pretty foreigner,drily, "but I have no such wish, at least at present."
"Very well, mademoiselle," replied Mrs. Marston, with gentle dignity; "Iregret your want of candor, on your own account. You would, I am sure, bemuch happier, were you to deal frankly with me."
"May I now have your permission, madame, to retire to my room?" askedthe French girl, rising, and making a low courtesy--"that is, if madamehas nothing further to censure."
"Certainly, mademoiselle; I have nothing further to say," replied theelder lady.
The Frenchwoman made another and a deeper courtesy, and withdrew. Mrs.Marston, however, heard, as she was designed to do, the young ladytittering and whispering to herself, as she lighted her candle in thehall. This scene mortified and grieved poor Mrs. Marston inexpressibly.She was little, if at all, accessible to emotions of anger and certainly,none such mingled in the feelings with which she regarded Mademoiselle deBarras. But she had found in this girl a companion, and even a confidantein her melancholy solitude; she had believed her affectionate,sympathetic, tender, and the disappointment was as bitter as unimagined.
The annoyances which she was fated to receive from Mademoiselle de Barraswere destined, however, to grow in number and in magnitude. TheFrenchwoman sometimes took a fancy, for some unrevealed purpose, to talka good deal to Mrs. Marston, and on such occasions would persist,notwithstanding that lady's marked reserve and discouragement, inchatting away, as if she were conscious that her conversation was themost welcome entertainment possible to her really unwilling auditor. Noone of their interviews did she ever suffer to close without in some wayor other suggesting or insinuating something mysterious and untold to theprejudice of Mr. Marston. Those vague and intangible hints, the meaningof which, for an instant legible and terrific, seemed in another momentto dissolve and disappear, tortured Mrs. Marston like the intrusion of aspecter; and this, along with the portentous change, rather felt thanvisible, in mademoiselle's conduct toward her, invested the beautifulFrenchwoman, in the eyes of her former friend and patroness, with anindefinable character that was not only repulsive but formidable.
Mrs. Marston's feelings with respect to this person were still furtherdisturbed by the half-conveyed hints and innuendoes of her own maid, whonever lost an opportunity of insinuating her intense dislike of theFrenchwoman, and appeared perpetually to be upon the very verge of makingsome explicit charges, or some shocking revelations, respecting her,which, however, she as invariably evaded; and even when Mrs. Marston onceor twice insisted upon her explaining her meaning distinctly, she eludedher mistress's desire, and left her still in the same uneasy uncertainty.
Marston, on his part, however much his conduct might tend to confirmsuspicion, certainly did nothing to dissipate the painful and undefinedapprehension respecting himself, which Mademoiselle de Barras, with suchmalign and mysterious industry, labored to raise. His spirits and temperwere liable to strange fluctuations. In the midst of that excited gaiety,to which, until lately, he had been so long a stranger, would sometimesintervene paroxysms of the blackest despair,
all the ghastlier for thecontrast, and with a suddenness so abrupt and overwhelming, that onemight have fancied him crossed by the shadow of some terrific apparition.Sometimes for a whole day, or even more, he would withdraw himself fromthe society of his family, and, in morose and moody solitude, take hismeals alone in his library, and steal out unattended to wander among thethickets and glades of his park. Sometimes, again, he would sit for hoursin the room which had been Sir Wynston's, and, with a kind of horribleresolution, often loiter there till after nightfall. In such hours, theservants would listen with curious awe, as they heard his step, pacingto and fro, in that deserted and inauspicious chamber, while his voice,in broken sentences, was also imperfectly audible, as if maintaining amuttered dialogue. These eccentric