was small butcosy, with two cupboards let into the wall. A bright fire burned in thegrate, and four lighted candles made a full and cheerful glow. Thewindow she noticed was rather small, and looking out of this, under thelight of the moon, she again took stock of the house. The windows atthe projecting ends, unoccupied, seemed to stare lifelessly. The housewas too much below the level of the sluice to allow a view of the pond,but the outline of the woods towered up against the frosty stars, andthe hoot of owls and the high up quacking of flighting duck, soundedupon the stillness. A feeling of intense peace, of intense thankfulnesscame over her. She had found a very haven of rest she felt already, andher newly acquired relative--well--she was sure she was going to getvery fond of him indeed.
Soon she betook herself downstairs, and cosy and bright indeed the roomlooked. A roast fowl lay temptingly upturned and surrounded by shredsof bacon, and the potatoes were beautifully white and flowery. Thelittle black kitten was playing riotously with a cork tied to the end ofa string which always hung from the back of one of the armchairs.
"Well, child, I hope you've brought an appetite with you," said Mervyn,as they sat down. "You'll have to be fed up. `Plain but wholesome,'you know, as the school prospectuses used to say."
"Yes, I've brought one. I feel miles better already." And then shetalked on--telling him about her life of late, and its ups and downs.But of her earlier life she seemed to avoid mention.
And Mervyn, encouraging her to talk, was furtively watching her. Theanimation which lit up her face, bringing with it a tinge of colour, thegleam of the golden hair in the lamplight, the movement of the long,white, artistic fingers--there was no point in the entrancing picturethat escaped him. Indeed, he had been lucky beyond compare, he decided,when Violet Clinock's letter had found him; and again and again as helooked at Melian, he made up his mind that she was there for good,unless she got tired of it and of him and insisted on leaving. But hewould not think of that to-night.
They got up at last, and Mervyn drew two big chairs to the fire. Thenhe lighted his pipe. The kitten in the most matter of course way jumpedupon Melian's lap and curled up there.
"There you are," laughed her uncle. "My nose is out of joint the firstthing. It used to prefer me for a couch, but I don't quarrel with itstaste."
So they sat on and chatted cosily. At last, bedtime came. Then Melianremarked on the circumstance that the table hadn't been cleared.
"No. It won't be, till to-morrow morning," was the reply. "Old Judyhas taken herself off long ago. I told you you'd have to rough it--eh?You see she and old Joe are the only people I can get to do my outlyingwork, and they hang out in a cottage the other side of the hill--beyondthe first pond we passed. The young ones won't stay on the place--findit too lonely, they say. So there you are."
"Yes. I'm going to turn to and do things," answered Melian decisively.
"Well, never mind about beginning now," he said, lighting her candle andpreceding her to her room. "Look, here's a handbell. If you wantanything, or are feeling lonely or `nervy' in the night, ring it likethe mischief--and I'll be there. Good-night, dear."
"Good-night, Uncle Seward," and she kissed him affectionately.
Mervyn returned to the living-room and re-lighted his pipe. His gazewandered to the shadowy door in the corner. Was its tradition reallyand completely upset? That strange manifestation, as to which he washardly yet prepared to swear to as entirely an optical delusion--hadpresaged good to somebody, in that by keeping him awake he had been ableto save the life of the stranger. But then the stranger had diedimmediately afterwards, under mysterious circumstances, and had this notbefallen why then he, John Seward Mervyn would never have become awareof the existence or propinquity of his niece. And what a find thatwas--a young, bright, beautiful presence to irradiate the shadows ofthis gloomy old haunted grange. No room for any melancholic, fancifulimaginings with that about.
And yet--and yet--it may be that he was not quite easy in his mind. Notfor nothing had he shown her that clearly ringing handbell, and laidemphasis on the unhesitating use of it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
A SLIP ON A STONE.
The morning broke, bright and clear, one of those rare winter morningswithout a cloud in the blue, and the sun making additional patternsthrough the frost facets on the window pane. And the said sun had notvery long since risen.
Mervyn looked out of the window; the house faced due east and caught thefirst glory of the morning sun--when there was any to catch, and to-daythere was. The frosted pines glistened and gleamed with it, so too didthe earth, with its newly laid coating of crystals. But in the midst ofthis setting was a picture.
Melian was coming down the path. A large hooded cloak was wrapped roundher, but she had nothing on her head, and the glory of her golden hairshone like fire in the new born, clear rays. The kitten, a woolly ballof black fluffiness, was squatted upon her shoulder, and she was singingto herself in a full, clear voice. He noted her straight carriage, andthe swing of her young, joyous, elastic gait. A picture indeed! Andthis bright, beautiful, joyous child, was going to belong to himhenceforward--to him, all alone. No one else in the wide world had theshadow of a claim upon her. She had come to him out of sordidsurrounding of depression and want--yes, it would soon have come tothat, judging from the account she had given of herself. Well, she hadfallen upon the right place, and at the right time.
He dressed quickly. He heard her enter the house, and old Judy's harshcroaky tones mingling with the clear melodious ones. Then a silveryrippling laugh, then another. He remembered old Judy could be funny attimes in her dry, cautious old rustic way. John Seward Mervyn felt thetimes had indeed changed for him. He felt years and years younger,under the bright spell of this youthful influence in the gloomy andshunned old house.
"Well dear!" he cried gaily, coming into the room. "You don't look muchof the `flu' patient slowly convalescing. What sort of an ungodly earlytime did you get up?"
"Oh Uncle Seward, I've had such fun. I've been out all up the pond, andthis little poogie had a romp all over the ice. Then it rushed up atree after a squirrel, and they sat snarling at each other at the end ofa thin bough, and the squirrel jumped to another tree, but the poogiewasn't taking any. Were you, pooge-pooge?" And she squeezed the littlewoolly ball into her face and neck.
"Well, it won't take you long to get on your legs again," said Mervyn,looking admiringly at the perfect picture she presented. "What shall wedo with you to-day? Go for a long drive--or what? Well, I don't know.The old shandradan I brought you here in isn't too snug for aconvalescing invalid, and it's the best I've got. But first we'll havebreakfast." And he hailed Judy, with an order to hurry on that repast.
"Oh, that be hanged for a yarn, Uncle Seward. I'm not a convalescinganything. I've convalesced already, in this splendid air andsurroundings. Let's go out somewhere. Do let's."
She had clasped both hands round his arm and the blue eyes weresparkling with anticipation.
"All right. You shall be Queen of the May, to-day at any rate. But Ithink we mustn't overdo it at the start. We'll lunch early, and thenstart on a rambling round of exploration--equipped with plenty ofwraps."
"And we may get another ripping sunset like yesterday," she exclaimed.
"You are extraordinarily fond of Nature's effects, child. What elseappeals to you?"
"Old stones?"
"What?"
"Old stones. Ruined castles--churches--Roman remains--everything ofthat kind."
Mervyn emitted a long and expressive whistle.
"Good Lord! but you've come to the right shop for that," he said. "Whythis countryside just grows them. All sorts of old mouldy monuments, inmusty places, just choking with dry rot. Eh? That what you mean?"
"That's just what I do mean."
"Oh Lord?"
He was looking at her, quizzically ruthful. He foresaw himself beingdragged into all sorts of weird places; hoary old churches, whoseinteriors wou
ld suggest the last purpose on earth to that for which theyhad been constructed, and reeking of dry rot--half an ancient arch inthe middle of a field which would require wading through a swamp to getat--and so on. But while he looked at her he was conscious that if shehad expressed a wish to get a relic chipped out of the moon, he wouldprobably have given serious thought to the feasibility of thatachievement.
"But that sort of thing's all so infernally ugly," he said.
"Is it? Ugly? Old Norman architecture ugly! What next?"
Mervyn whistled again.
"I don't know anything about Norman, or any other architecture," hesaid, with a laugh. "I only know that