“what shall assuage the unforgotten pain,
and teach the unforgetful to forget?”
i lay awake for a long time after i got into bed, and i had not been long asleep when some sound wakened me. i was at first not sorry to awake; i had been sleeping uneasily and feverishly, and my dreams had been full of disasters and difficulties. i did not trouble myself much as to what the sound was—probably a rat, as the house was overrun with them—and i tried to see the face of my watch by the light of the fire, which was still burning brightly.{174} i had made out that it was half-past one, when i again heard a sound. it was a movement in the next room, as if a chair had been pushed against by some one moving cautiously in the dark. i do not pretend to being superior to irrational terrors at night, and now the blood rushed back to my head from my heart, as i sat up in bed and tried to persuade myself that what i had heard was the effect of imagination.
there was dead silence for a few seconds, and then a hand was passed over the other side of the paper-covered door, as if feeling for the latch. i could not have moved to save my life, and remained sitting bolt upright, with my eyes fixed upon the door. it was a weak and badly fitting one, made of single planks, and at first refused to open, but it had finally to yield to the pressure applied to it. it opened with a jerk, and i{175} saw by the firelight that the figure which appeared in the doorway was neither ghost nor burglar, but was that of the woman whose special mission it had seemed to be to terrify me ever since i came to durrus.
“what do you want?” i demanded, as courageously as i could, though my voice was less valiant than i could have wished.
moll advanced a step into the room, keeping her face down and half averted from me, while her large hands kept clutching and plucking at the cloak she wore.
“go away,” i said, feeling exceedingly frightened. “you know you are not allowed to come in here.”
she stopped still for a moment, and looked at me. the deep shadows which the fire threw on her face made it look absolutely appalling. her lips moved incessantly, and her malevolent expression, as she glanced at me out of the corners of{176} her eyes, made me feel certain that she was trying to curse me; but, except a guttural mouthing sound, i could distinguish nothing. while this imprecation, or whatever it was, was going on, she kept edging sideways towards the sofa, and, cautiously putting out her hand, she picked up the large cushion that was on it.
still watching; me intently, she moved towards the bed, crushing and working the pillow about in her hands. i had no idea what she was going to do, and wildly thought of making a rush past her to the other door, and escaping down the corridor; but, beside the disadvantage of leaving a stronghold where, if the worst came to the worst, i could always pull the clothes over my head, i had a horrible fear that she might run after me. i determined to make a last effort, and, before she could come any closer, i said determinately{177}—
“if you do not go away at once, i shall call the master.”
at this, to my unspeakable relief, she looked hastily round over her shoulder, and let the cushion fall. drawing the hood of her cloak over her head, she slowly retreated into the room out of which she had come, and with a final roll of her dreadful eyes upon me, she closed the paper-covered door after her. i listened intently, and presently heard the rustle of her cloak against the walls as she went down the corridor, and soon afterwards a door in some distant part of the house opened and shut.
i drew a long breath; she was out of the house now. i got up, and, with shaking limbs, dragged my big saratoga trunk against the paper-covered door, and, having locked the other one, felt comparatively secure. as might be expected, i{178} did not get to sleep again very easily. i had always been aware of moll’s animosity towards me, but this was the first time it had taken active form. as my nerves steadied down, i remembered the sounds that willy and i had heard in the avenue on the way home, and i wondered if jealousy on anstey’s account could have been moll’s motive in following us, and then in making her way, with what seemed like a sinister intention, up to my room. yet it was hard to believe that such a creature as she was could comprehend and act upon an idea of the kind. i drowsily tried to connect this dreadful visit with her husband’s words to willy at the lodge, but before i could arrive at any satisfactory conclusion i fell asleep.
at breakfast i told willy the greater part of what had happened, but i made as light of it all as i could. he was out of{179} spirits, and not like himself, and i had put off saying anything to him about it until we had almost finished breakfast. when i had ended my story, he pushed back his chair from the table and got up.
“i’ll make them sorry for this,” he said vindictively, his face flushing darkly as he spoke. “i’ll teach that old scoundrel brian to let moll come up here frightening you! you look as white as a sheet this minute.”
“i am sure i am nothing of the kind,” i answered, trying unsuccessfully to look at myself in the silver teapot; “there is nothing the matter with me. if you will fasten up that little door into the other room before this evening, i shall be perfectly happy.”
“never fear but i will,” he said; “and it’ll be very queer if i don’t fasten up that old hag too.{180}”
he stalked out of the room. i heard him go upstairs and along the corridor, and presently the noise of hammering echoed through the house.
i met him in the hall soon afterwards, putting on his cap to go out.
“i fixed that door the way it won’t be opened again in a hurry,” he said, with grim satisfaction, “and i’ve locked the other; and now i’m going to be off to fix moll herself. she’s not such a fool but she’ll understand what i’m going to say to her!”
“i wonder what the attraction in that room was for her?” i said. “i have seen her in there several times.”
“goodness knows! there was nothing in it, only an old broken chair she had by the window, and there were a couple of books on the floor that i suppose she stole out of the study to play with. one looked{181} like an old diary, or account-book, or something. i meant to bring it to show you, but i left it in my room with the hammer and nails.”
“i am very much obliged to you for shutting up that door,” i said, with sincere gratitude. “i had no idea you were going to do it for me at once. you are a most reliable person.”
he had taken his stick out of the stand, and had opened the hall door; but he stopped and looked back at me.
“i think i’d do more than that for you,” he said, almost under his breath, and went out of the house.
it was a fine morning, and i finally went for a walk along the cliffs with the dogs. i expected to hear all about willy’s encounter with moll at luncheon; but, on my return to the house, i heard, to my surprise, that he had ridden into moycullen,{182} and would probably not be home for dinner.
the afternoon lagged by. i had tea early, in the hope of shortening it; but the device did not have much success. as the evening clouded in, rain began to beat in large drops against the windows, and the rising wind sighed about the house, and sent puffs of smoke down the drawing-room chimney. i despised myself for the feeling of forsakenness which it gave me; but i could help it no more than i could hinder some apprehensive recollections of moll’s entry into my room. a childish dread of having all the darkness behind me made me crouch down on the hearthrug, with my back to the fire, and rouse pat from a satiated slumber to sit on my lap for company. something about the look of the fire and the sound of the rain was compelling my thoughts back to the after{183}noon when i sat and waited here for nugent. i did not try, as i had so often tried before, to drive away those thoughts, or to forget the withheld possibilities of that afternoon. once more i gave myself over to the fascination of unprofitable remembrances, yielding to myself on the plea that it was to be for the last time. after to-day they would be contraband, made outlaws by the power of a resolution which i had newly come to—a resolution that i had been driven to by the combined forces of pity and sympathy and conscience; but to-day, for one final half-hour, i would allow them to have their way.
dinner-time came, and with it no appearance of willy. uncle dominick had for some time given up his custom of waiting in the library to take me in to dinner, and willy and i usually found him{184} sitting by the fire in the dining-room when we went in. to-night, when i came in alone, he remained seated in his chair.
“we may as well give willy a few moments’ law,” he said. “i hear he rode into moycullen.”
“he told tom when he was going that you weren’t to wait dinner for him, sir,” interposed roche.
“what business could he have that would detain him so late?” said my uncle, slowly rising and taking his place at the table. “can you throw any light upon this absence, theo?”
he looked anxious and surprised when i told him that willy had said nothing to me about it. several times during dinner he harked back to the same subject, and i was more struck than ever by the nervous uncertainty of his manner, and the strange way in which one idea took possession of{185} his mind. he looked so ill and worn, that before i left the room compassion made me screw up my courage to ask him if he would not sit with me in the drawing-room, instead of going to his own study by himself.
he shook his head. “you are very good, my dear; it is very kind of you to express a wish for my society. but i am much occupied in the evenings—letters to write, accounts to go over. besides, i am used by this time to being alone—ah yes!” he walked feebly over to the door, and opened it for me to leave the room. “you must forgive me,” he said.
to my amazement, he stooped down as i passed, and, putting his hand on my shoulder, he kissed my forehead.
