The Castle Inn | Page 6

But
for drawing his sword to help a woman, or avenge a wrong, a
gentleman--a gentleman does not do these things. It is true! And may--'
'Oh, have done, have done, my dear!' cried a wailing, tearful voice; and
Sir George, almost cowed by the girl's fierce words and the fiercer
execration that was on her lips, hailed the intervention with relief. The
woman whom he had seen on her knees had risen and now approached
the girl, showing a face wrinkled, worn, and plain, but not ignoble; and
for the time lifted above the commonplace by the tears that rained
down it. 'Oh, my lovey, have done,' she cried. 'And let the gentleman

go. To kill another will not help him that is dead. Nor us that are left
alone!'
'It will not help him!' the girl answered, shrilly and wildly; and her eyes,
leaving Soane, strayed round the room as if she were that moment
awakened and missed some one. 'No! But is he to be murdered, and no
one suffer? Is he to die and no one pay? He who had a smile for us, go
in or out, and never a harsh word or thought; who never did any man
wrong or wished any man ill? Yet he lies there! Oh, mother, mother,'
she continued, her voice broken on a sudden by a tremor of pain, 'we
are alone! We are alone! We shall never see him come in at that door
again!'
The old woman sobbed helplessly and made no answer; on which the
girl, with a gesture as simple as it was beautiful, drew the grey head to
her shoulder. Then she looked at Sir George. 'Go,' she said; but he saw
that the tears were welling up in her eyes, and that her frame was
beginning to tremble. 'Go! I was not myself--a while ago--when I
fetched you. Go, sir, and leave us.'
Moved by the abrupt change, as well as by her beauty, Sir George
lingered; muttering that perhaps he could help her in another way. But
she shook her head, once and again; and, instinctively respecting the
grief which had found at length its proper vent, he turned and, softly
lifting the latch, went out into the court.
The night air cooled his brow, and recalled him to sober earnest and the
eighteenth century. In the room which he had left, he had marked
nothing out of the common except the girl. The mother, the furniture,
the very bed on which the dead man lay, all were appropriate, and such
as he would expect to find in the house of his under-steward. But the
girl? The girl was gloriously handsome; and as eccentric as she was
beautiful. Sir George's head turned and his eyes glowed as he thought
of her. He considered what a story he could make of it at White's; and
he put up his spying-glass, and looked through it to see if the towers of
the cathedral still overhung the court. 'Gad, sir!' he said aloud,
rehearsing the story, as much to get rid of an unfashionable sensation
he had in his throat as in pure whimsy, 'I was surprised to find that it

was Oxford. It should have been Granada, or Bagdad, or Florence! I
give you my word, the houris that the Montagu saw in the Hammam at
Stamboul were nothing to her!'
The persons through whom he had passed on his way to the door were
still standing before the house. Glancing back when he had reached the
mouth of the court, he saw that they were watching him; and, obeying a
sudden impulse of curiosity, he turned on his heel and signed to the
nearest to come to him. 'Here, my man,' he said, 'a word with you.'
The fellow moved towards him reluctantly, and with suspicion. 'Who is
it lies dead there?' Sir George asked.
'Your honour knows,' the man answered cautiously.
'No, I don't.'
'Then you will be the only one in Oxford that does not,' the fellow
replied, eyeing him oddly.
'Maybe,' Soane answered with impatience. 'Take it so, and answer the
question,'
'It is Masterson, that was the porter at Pembroke.'
'Ah! And how did he die?'
'That is asking,' the man answered, looking shiftily about. 'And it is an
ill business, and I want no trouble. Oh, well'--he continued, as Sir
George put something in his hand--'thank your honour, I'll drink your
health. Yes, it is Masterson, poor man, sure enough; and two days ago
he was as well as you or I--saving your presence. He was on the gate
that evening, and there was a supper on one of the staircases: all the
bloods of the College, your honour will understand. About an hour
before midnight the Master sent him