Helbeck of Bannisdale, vol 1 | Page 7

didn't know you had a dog like this. It's so like ours--you see--like papa's. I had to give ours away when we left Folkestone. You dear, dear thing!"--(the caressing intensity in the girl's young voice made Helbeck shrink and turn away)--"now you won't kill my Fricka, will you? She's curled up, such a delicious black ball, on my bed; you couldn't--you couldn't have the heart! I'll take you up and introduce you--I'll do everything proper!"
The dog looked up at her, with its soft, quiet eyes, as though it weighed her pleadings.
"There," she said triumphantly. "It's all right--he winked. Come along, my dear, and let's make real friends."
And she led the dog into the hall, Helbeck ceremoniously opening the door for her.
She sat herself down in the oak settle beside the hall fire, where for some minutes she occupied herself entirely with the dog, talking a sort of baby language to him that left Helbeck absolutely dumb. When she raised her head, she flung, dartlike, another question at her host.
"Have you many neighbours, Mr. Helbeck?"
Her voice startled his look away from her.
"Not many," he said, hesitating. "And I know little of those there are."
"Indeed! Don't you like--society?"
He laughed with some embarrassment. "I don't get much of it," he said simply.
"Don't you? What a pity!--isn't it, Bruno? I like society dreadfully,--dances, theatres, parties,--all sorts of things. Or I did--once."
She paused and stared at Helbeck. He did not speak, however. She sat up very straight and pushed the dog from her. "By the way," she said, in a shrill voice, "there are my cousins, the Masons. How far are they?"
"About seven miles."
"Quite up in the mountains, isn't it?"
Helbeck assented.
"Oh! I shall go there at once, I shall go tomorrow," said the girl, with emphasis, resting her small chin lightly on the head of the dog, while she fixed her eyes--her hostile eyes--upon her host.
Helbeck made no answer. He went to fetch another log for the fire.
"Why doesn't he say something about them?" she thought angrily. "Why doesn't he say something about papa?--about his illness?--ask me any questions? He may have hated him, but it would be only decent. He is a very grand, imposing person, I suppose, with his melancholy airs, and his family. Papa was worth a hundred of him! Oh! past a quarter to ten? Time to go, and let him have his prayers to himself. Augustina told me ten."
She sprang up, and stiffly held out her hand.
"Good-night, Mr. Helbeck. I ought to go to Augustina and settle her for the night. To-morrow I should like to tell you what the doctor said about her; she is not strong at all. What time do you breakfast?"
"Half-past eight. But, of course----"
"Oh, no! of course Augustina won't come down! I will carry her up her tray myself. Good-night."
Helbeck touched her hand. But as she turned away, he followed her a few steps irresolutely, and then said: "Miss Fountain,"--she looked round in surprise,--"I should like you to understand that everything that can be done in this poor house for my sister's comfort, and yours, I should wish done. My resources are not great, but my will is good."
He raised his eyelids, and she saw the eyes beneath, full, for the first time,--eyes grey like her own, but far darker and profounder. She felt a momentary flutter, perhaps of compunction. Then she thanked him and went her way.
* * * * *
When she had made her stepmother comfortable for the night, Laura Fountain went back to her room, shielding her candle with difficulty from the gusts that seemed to tear along the dark passages of the old house. The March rawness made her shiver, and she looked shrinkingly into the gloom before her, as she paused outside her own door. There, at the end of the passage, lay the old tower; so Mrs. Denton had told her. The thought of all the locked and empty rooms in it,--dark, cold spaces,--haunted perhaps by strange sounds and presences of the past, seemed to let loose upon her all at once a little whirlwind of fear. She hurried into her room, and was just setting down her candle before turning to lock her door, when a sound from the distant hall caught her ear.
A deep monotonous sound, rising and falling at regular intervals, Mr. Helbeck reading prayers, with the two maids, who represented the only service of the house.
Laura lingered with her hand on the door. In the silence of the ancient house, there was something touching in the sound, a kind of appeal. But it was an appeal which, in the girl's mind, passed instantly into reaction. She locked the door, and turned away, breathing fast as though under some excitement.
The tears, long held down, were rising, and the room, where a large wood fire was burning,--wood