The Spider and the Fly

"Well, my dear – " said Mrs. Mildmay, with hesitating indecision.

"At least," laughed Violet, "you will wait a week to think over it. You and Captain Murpoint can sit in council while I take a drive. I am going to try Dot and Spot in tandem," and she ran from the room.

"Be careful, my dear!" Mrs. Mildmay called after her, and the girl's light laugh rang back in loving mockery.

But something occurred within the next half hour which put the projected journey to London on the shelf for a while.

As Dot and Spot were trotting down the steep road, in very high spirits and showing signs of rebellion, Violet saw two gentlemen walking slowly up the hill.

Her attention was so much absorbed by the ponies that she did not bestow more than a glance upon them at first, and it was not until she had got considerably nearer to them that she recognized in one Mr. Leicester Dodson.

Impulsive, as usual, she on the instant determined to change places with that gentleman in the matter of pride, and show him that she also could be inconsistent, therefore, when she came on a level with the gentlemen, she merely responded to the uplifting of Mr. Leicester's deerstalker by a cool, little nod, and whipped up Dot into a sharper trot.

Leicester, who had pulled up expecting a little parley, colored slightly, and to Bertie Fairfax's enthusiastic exclamation, "I say, Les, what a beautiful creature," replied, rather coldly:

"Do you think so? That is Miss Violet Mildmay."

Bertie glanced up at Leicester's face, and whistled, comically.

"By Jove! she gave you the cut direct, Les."

"I am sure, I don't know," said Mr. Leicester, with the most provoking gravity. "She did, most likely, if you say so, Bertie – you, who are so well versed in woman's wiles and smiles."

"Hem!" laughed Bertie, "you haven't made much impression in that quarter, Les, and – Hello!" he broke off, "those blessed ponies have started round, and here they come, neck or nothing! By Heaven! they'll be over that wall, trap and all, if she don't pull them in directly!"

Leicester turned round sharply, and, without a word, set off running across the road.

"Keep tight hold of the reins!" he cried, in his deep, musical voice, as the two ponies came dashing along, with their wicked, little heads thrown back and the tiny, toy phaeton swinging and rocking behind them. "Keep a tight hand on the reins, and don't be frightened," he added, as he glanced at Violet's face, which was pale, but set fast and firm with determination and courage.

She nodded slightly to show him that she heard and would obey, and he saw the tiny, little hands close fast upon the reins.

The next instant he made a spring at the pony with such force that the little animal was nearly knocked over, and dragged him to a standstill.

Snap went one of the traces, and up went Master Spot, but a round smack on the head from Leicester's hand quieted him, and then Leicester turned, with a smile, to Violet.

"You haven't acquired the art yet," he said, nodding laughingly. "I am afraid you do not use the whip enough."

Violet bit her lip with vexation for a moment in silence, then burst into a merry laugh, which had not a particle of fear in it.

"Tiresome little beast!" she said, "he would turn round! I did whip him, indeed, I did! But he was so obstinate, and so – and so – I thought I would let him go!"

Mr. Leicester smiled incredulously, and Violet, understanding the smile, laughed again.

"Well, I really do believe I could have pulled him in if I had tried a little harder!"

"Then you will not forgive me for interfering," he said.

Violet's smile changed immediately, and her beautiful eyes grew grave.

"I am only jesting," she said, in a low voice. "I know how kind you have been, and what you saved me from," and she glanced at the low wall, significantly.

"You must not try tandem alone just yet," he said.

At that moment, which was rather an awkward one, Bertie Fairfax came up, and Leicester hastened to introduce him.

Violet bowed to the fair-haired Bertie and, after a glance of examination, felt that she liked him.

"Is it sympathy or antipathy?" murmured Leicester, who was near her.

Violet flushed slightly. "Neither," she retorted, in as low a voice.

"The trace is broken," said Bertie. "You cannot drive the little beggar any farther, Miss Mildmay."

"No," said Leicester, who seemed to have forgotten the ponies. "I will cut the connection, and divide the little rascals. You can then drive Master Spot home, and I can put Dot in my pocket."

Violet laughed.

"Really, it is a shame to give you so much trouble," she said. "Can you not tie him to a post? I can send Tom down for him!"

"It is no trouble," said Leicester politely. "And, what is more, we were coming up to the Park. My mother and father have driven over to pay you a visit; my friend and I were to accompany them, but we preferred walking, and arranged to meet them."

"I hope I shall get home before they have gone," said Violet. "At least, you will let me take one of you up?"

But they both declined, and Violet started, leaving Leicester and Bertie to follow with the rebellious Dot.

"Well," said Leicester, with his half cynical smile, as Bertie Fairfax looked after the disappearing phaeton. "I know you are dying to pronounce your opinion."

"I like her," said Bertie. "I think she's the most beautiful girl I've seen – bar one," he added, sotto voce, "and I like the candid, fearless look of her face. Those violet, velvet eyes, too."

"Nonsense, they're brown," said Leicester, but, although his voice was mocking, Bertie knew that his praises had pleased his friend.

"You evidently think as much of her yourself, mon ami," he said, significantly, "or you wouldn't drag that little beggar a mile and a half in a midsummer sun! Leicester's reformed! The bear is tamed!"

"Pshaw!" said Leicester. "Can't a man do a civil thing once in a way but all you young puppies must yelp at him?"

"Young!" retorted Bertie. "I like that, old Methuselah! Why, hang it, I'm older than you, if I haven't such a grim mug."

Leicester laughed.

"Then you've more years than sense, Bertie; so hold your tongue, and come on. I'd give a shilling for a bottle of Bass. If this little beggar were a hand smaller we'd tie his legs, sling him across your walking-stick, and carry him home in triumph like a dead rabbit."

CHAPTER IX

THE PATH OF THE GHOST

In due course they appeared at the Park, very dusty and rather hot. Mrs. Mildmay was greatly alarmed and distressed at the idea of their walking such a distance in such weather, but it was the captain who so cleverly suggested that a little refreshment might be acceptable.

Mr. Leicester eyed him for the first time with something like amiability.

"I am thirsty, I'll admit," he said, with his curt smile.

Mrs. Mildmay rang the bell.

"Some claret, and hock, and some seltzer water."

Violet, whose eyes were quick, saw a quiet twinkle in Mr. Fairfax's eyes, and said, with a laugh:

"Perhaps you would prefer something else, Mr. Fairfax?"

"No, not I," said wicked Bertie; "but Leicester here has acquired a most degraded taste for bitter beer."

And as Mr. Leicester did not take the trouble to deny the imputation, Violet added, "and some bottles of ale."

The servant brought them, and while the gentlemen – including the captain, who said that he really could not resist the temptation – discussed them, Mrs. Dodson delivered herself of the purport of her visit.

Would Mrs. and Miss Mildmay and the captain come over to the Cedars and eat a friendly dinner with them on the morrow?

Mrs. Mildmay glanced interrogatively at Violet. Violet looked up, smilingly, and accepted.

"I shall be delighted, for my part," she said, "if it is really to be a very friendly, unceremonious evening."

The captain and Mrs. Mildmay echoed, and Mrs. Dodson looked pleased.

"It will be very quiet," she said. "We did expect Lord and Lady Boisdale from Coombe Lodge; but it is not certain whether they have come yet; if they have they have promised to join us."

"I am so glad!" said Mrs. Mildmay, who was secretly quite surprised that the Dodsons should be on dining terms with the Lackland family. "I like Lady Lackland so much. I met them very often in town. Violet does not know them; they have not been to Coombe Lodge since she left school."

"Then you will come, and I hope we shall see them," said Mrs. Dodson, rising. "Seven o'clock. Have you gentlemen finished your ale, and do you mean to ride back?"

"I'll walk, please," said Leicester, rising.

"Then you must rest a little longer, I think," said Mrs. Mildmay.

So it happened that Mr. and Mrs. Dodson were escorted to their carriage and started off, and that Leicester and Bertie spent the afternoon resting in Violet's drawing-room and conservatory, and that, while Bertie was absorbed in conversation with the captain, Leicester was left to exchange notes and opinions with Violet.

Perhaps it did not seem so dull to Miss Mildmay that afternoon, and perhaps Mr. Leicester was not altogether unhappy, stretching his long legs among her ferns and flowers.

At seven o'clock on the following evening the Park carriage dashed up to the door of the Cedars, and the guests alighted.

"Fancy calling upon 'those people, the tallow chandlers,' auntie," whispered Violet, wickedly, as they were ushered through the immense hall to the magnificent drawing-room.

"Hush, my dear! they will hear you," murmured Mrs. Mildmay, warningly, as Mrs. Dodson came forward to greet them.

But Violet was shaking hands with Mr. Leicester and Mr. Fairfax, the latter looking particularly handsome and yellow-haired in his evening dress.

"The Boisdales have not come yet," said Mr. Dodson; "but they are coming."

"And here they are," said Leicester, as another carriage, not quite so well appointed as the wealthy Mildmays', dashed up.

Violet looked toward the door, with some curiosity, which was transformed to pleased interest as Lady Ethel entered.

Violet, whose likes and dislikes were most sudden, and oftentimes unaccountable, liked Ethel at first sight.

The two girls bowed first, and then shook hands. There was no doubting Violet's open, kindly eyes on Ethel's part, and Ethel's gentle, quiet smile on Violet's.

"This is my brother, Fitz," she said, as Violet made room for her on the sofa, and Violet looked up and saw good-natured, simple Lord Boisdale standing looking down at her with his boyish grin.

Violet felt herself superior to him immediately, and bowed quite condescendingly, as she would to a schoolboy. Lord Fitz felt – well, he never could tell how he felt at their first meeting, though he tried to often afterward.

"What a pretty place this is!" said Ethel. "I am so sorry we have not known more of it. It is the prettiest drive possible up the cliff."

"And that house with the green, old buildings on the hill," said Lord Boisdale, "is quite a treat. I wonder who owns it?"

"Miss Violet Mildmay," said Mr. Fairfax, who was standing near, quite silent, for a wonder, and looking out of the corner of his frank, blue eyes at Ethel.

"Eh? Eh? I beg your pardon," said Lord Fitz, coloring.

"You have done nothing to need it," said Violet. "I am quite grateful to you for admiring what I love."

"Well, it is pretty," said Lord Fitz. "By Jove! prettier than this," he added, in a loud whisper, which was fortunately drowned by the announcement of dinner.

Mr. Dodson took in Lady Ethel, Lord Fitz followed up with Mrs. Mildmay, and Violet found herself upon Bertie Fairfax's arm, but Leicester Dodson sat near her at dinner, and, being at home, found it his duty to talk.

It was a pleasant dinner, exquisitely cooked and served by discreet, attentive and noiseless servants.

When the ladies returned to the drawing-room the gentlemen seemed to miss them, and after a very little wine was consumed they followed them.

Somebody proposed whist to Mr. Dodson presently. The captain said it was a good idea, and simple-minded Fitz, Mr. Dodson and Bertie and the captain sat down, just for a rubber, while the ladies gave them a little music.

Leicester could play a good hand at any game of cards, and was fond of whist, but he found himself at Violet's side, by the piano.

The captain was induced to sing, and the audience dropped into silence, for when Captain Murpoint pleased he could still conversation most effectively, and never did he sing more effectively than he did then.

When the carriage came up the party was quite loath to break up.

Coombe Lodge was within such an easy drive, and the Park so near, that, as Mr. Dodson said, they were like a family party.

It was a lovely moonlight night, and Leicester proposed that, if they insisted upon going, they should send the carriages on at a slow pace and walk themselves part of the way.

They started and sauntered on, the moonlight pouring down upon them its soft, placid, fitful light, and bathing sea and land, cliff and hollow, in a silver stream.

The party soon broke up into groups. Fitz and Leicester with Violet, Bertie and Ethel with Mrs. Mildmay, and the captain and Mr. and Mrs. Dodson.

It was certainly a tempting night, and the young people seemed to quietly revel in it. Twice the Lackland carriage was sent on; but at last Ethel decided that they had better get in, and, much to Bertie's inward grief, Fitz consented.

"The day after to-morrow, then," he said, as he closed the carriage door. "You will not forget that as you forgot me."

"No," said Ethel laughing, but with a slight flush, "I will not forget, and I hope we shall all have a nice ride. Good-night."

Bertie bent over her hand and held it until he was in danger of the wheels. Then Leicester declared that he would go on as far as the Park and return with a cigar.

"You may light it now," said Violet, "if you like. I do not mind."

Leicester was very grateful and lit it.

By some means the captain attracted Bertie's attention as they neared the Park, and so, calling him away, left Leicester and Violet alone.

They did not seem to notice it, however, and stopped to look at the ruins of the old abbey clinging to the new house.

"Beautiful!" said Leicester. "Bertie has been in ecstasies over this; he is an author and an artist, you know."

"I like him," said Violet, in her decisive way.

"So do I," said Leicester. "He is my best friend. My rooms and his in the Temple adjoin."

"Do they?" said Violet. "How strange it sounds: 'In the Temple.' What do you do in chambers?"

"He works hard. I – smoke, drink, read, think, and watch him working."

Violet laughed.

"It must be very nice," she said, softly. "Look!" she said, suddenly; "that is the ghost's window."

"That long oriel window?" said Leicester. "You promised to tell me about your pet ghost."

"Don't joke about it," she said, with a short laugh. "Ask the fishermen about it. No man, woman or child would pass that tower after dark."

"What sort of ghost is it?" asked Leicester, with extreme levity. He did not believe in the supernatural.

"Have you never heard the legend?" said Violet. "It is a strange one."

"Tell it me here; it is a fine opportunity, and proper surroundings. Is it a man or a woman?"

"A nun," said Violet, "in white robes, with a skull's face and two gleaming eyes. My old nurse had seen it three times. And after each appearance something dreadful or unfortunate happened either at the Park or at the village. Once the old farm took fire and was burned down, the second time one of the Godolphins, who were then living at the Abbey, was drowned in the bay, and the third time a child fell off the cliff."

"The people of Penruddie should insure their lives after the ghost appears," said Leicester laughing.

"You laugh; but is it not strange?" said Violet gravely. "And, what is more strange to my mind, all the descriptions of the apparition by the different persons who have seen it tally exactly. All say it is a woman in white robes, with a skull's face and gleaming eyes, and that it carries a strange, shaded light, which throws a fearful, dim glare for some distance. Is it not awful?"

Leicester smiled.

"Not very," he said. "I have seen better at Drury Lane. And does your ghost confine herself to that lower and oriel window or does she perambulate?"

"Yes, she has been seen at that small window on the right, you see, which the ivy half covers."

"I see," he said, "and what room is that?"

"A room in the old abbey, which was left standing by my father's directions," said Violet, in a low voice. "He used it as a sort of study or reading-room, and when he died it was closed up."

"It is empty, then?" said Leicester.

"No; we would have nothing removed. There is all the old furniture as it used to be when he lived. It used to be left undisturbed while he was absent on his voyages, and it is undisturbed now."

"It is a room for a ghost," said Leicester.

Violet nodded.

"Yes," she said. "Look, the moon is obscured. How dark it is. Ah! what is that?" she broke off, with a scared, dry voice, clutching Leicester's arm.

"What – where?" he asked, quickly, and laying his hand upon hers.

"There – in the room! at the window!" she breathed. "It has gone!"

"What?" he asked, still keeping the hand, which she seemed too frightened to remove.

"I – I – scarcely know," she said, brokenly, and with a shudder, which Leicester felt. "A something white, with a light, at that little window."

"Oh, are you sure?" he asked, doubtfully, anxious to convince her that it was mere fancy. "Remember, we have just been talking about the ghost."

"No, no; it was not fancy," she said. "I saw it plainly enough. I was not thinking of it as I spoke, and I saw it when the moon got behind the cloud. It was in my father's room."

At that moment she started again. A voice so close behind her that it seemed to spring from the ground said: "Miss Mildmay, where are you? Oh, here you are!"

And Captain Murpoint came up.

"How interested you look! What are you talking about?"

"Ghosts," said Leicester, fixing his dark, scrutinizing eyes upon him. "Did you not hear Miss Mildmay call out?"

"No," said the captain, innocently, "I only just came up."

But he had been close beside them for some minutes, and had not only heard Violet's low cry of terror, but the whole of the conversation.

CHAPTER X

A DISQUIETING RUMOR

Some quiet evenings are more productive of matter for reflection and afterthought than many more exciting and apparently eventful ones. How little there is to talk over a ball! One quadrille is like another and one partner very much like another. Most ballrooms are hot, most partners are unsuitable. But how often a quiet evening with a few friends in a country house is the beginning of some great matter – the mustard seed whence springs the shadowing tree, the bend of the stream which changes its whole course!

So it was with several of the members of Mrs. Dodson's quiet, little dinner.

Five of them at least returned to rest that night very thoughtful.

The captain, when he had reached the little boudoir, or dressing-room, of his luxurious suite, cast off as if it were a mask the careless smile of simple amiability and showed in his countenance some of the subtle working of his brain.

As he walked to the window and looked out upon the scene bathed in the moonlight, his face grave and frowning with deep thought, he looked a very different person to the easy-going gentleman of fortune which he had appeared in the drawing-room a few minutes before.

"Soh!" he muttered, "the room has been closed since John Mildmay's death, and never been opened; the dust must lie thick there. Haunted, too! Did she see anything, or was it only a sentimental girl's fancy? Violet is not sentimental, and is scarcely the girl to be led away by a weak fancy, either. The cry and the start were too natural in their suddenness and reluctance to be affected. Strange! I don't believe in ghosts, but if I did I would believe that Violet Mildmay saw one then.

"The haunted room lies near this – in what direction? Let me see," and he closed his eyes and worked out a mental calculation. "It must lie at the end of my bedroom, for that is in the part of the building nearest the ruins. If I were a nervous man, I might feel qualmish about the near proximity of the haunted chamber. As it is, as I am a man who has to make his fortune, that chamber, with its uncanny character, is a godsend; it is a slice of luck I little looked for, another card in a hand which was not a bad one at any time.

"But I must not overlook my opponents. I play as one against many. First, Leicester Dodson; he is not to be lightly held. His handsome face and long legs carry a brain with them that may be a fitting match for mine. He has coolness and confidence, has Mr. Leicester Dodson, and he is smitten with Mistress Violet. They were close together to-night, in amiable confidence, her hand fell upon his arm. I have known a man's heart fall before one look of such a woman as Violet before now. And the boy, my young Lord Boisdale, is half inclined to lose his wits over the girl's fair face and grace – but he doesn't count. Some men are born fools, and this is one. He is of use, though. I must play one against the other. His sister, too, Lady Ethel, is no fool, and Mr. Bertie Fairfax thinks her an angel. There should be some cards to play there!

"Let me think, let me think. There are the materials of a nice little game of cross-purposes, if I can but manage it. Come in!"

He broke off abruptly as a knock at the door disturbed his cogitations.

Mr. Jem entered with his master's dressing-gown.

The captain threw off his coat, and donned the capacious garment in silence which Jem did not think proper to break.

At last the captain roused from his reverie and turned his attention to his follower.

"Where have you been?"

"Down in the village, captain," said Jem Starling, with a wink. "There's a wery nice little and pretty little creetur in cherry ribbons wot draws a good glass of ale."

The captain nodded, absently.

"Don't be seen there too often, and keep your mouth shut."

"Trust me," said Jem, clicking his tongue against his cheek, with a knowing air. "This old soldier is a very remarkable old soldier, and he's like the parrot – he don't talk much, but he thinks the more."

"You may think as much as you like," said the captain, "but be as moderate in your thinking as your talking, my friend. You had a bad habit, when I knew you in former days, of lifting that elbow of yours too often," and the captain went through the pantomime of a man raising a glass to his lips. "One slip in that direction means ruin, remember, ruin for you as well as me. But, there, I have no wish to worry you. Amuse yourself as you like, so that you keep your mouth shut."

"I amuse myself," said Jem. "There's quite a little game going on down below, which I'm mighty interested in. It's like one o' them Chinese puzzles, little pieces of wood you put together, you know. Lor', you might 'a' lived down Whitechapel in Larry's thieves' kitchen and not see more signs and mysterious nods and winks as you do down here – down here in this little village, which I thought was inhabited by perfect infants. Why, a man has to keep his eyes open every minute to catch all the signs which one simple-looking chap of a fisherman gives to another."

"What do you mean?" asked the captain, absently, and with evident inattention. "What signs should these men have? what mystery? There, I'm tired, go to bed. By the way, there's a sovereign for you."

And he threw one of the coins which he had won that evening on the table.

Jem, who was beginning to understand his master's moods, picked up the donation with a touch of the forehead, and, with a gruff, "Good-night, captain," departed, muttering to himself:

"He's working, he is; he's begun the game, or my name's not Jem. Ah! he's a deep 'un, is the captain!"

In another room of the Park Violet was inclined to be thoughtful, and for some time her maid brushed the long tresses of her mistress' bright hair with inward surprise at her silence, and at last ventured to intrude upon it by the commencement of the little gossip to which Violet was rather partial, so long as it was confined to innocent chat and did not diverge to scandal and tittle-tattle.