The Castle of the Shadows | Page 5

Englishwoman, pure and sweet, though the voice was
sad and lifeless. Her melancholy dark eyes, deep and sombre as
mountain tarns, wandered from the brother's handsome face to the
beautiful one of the sister.
"Pray don't speak of an intrusion," she said. "Our servant will be glad to
show you through the house, and afterward, if you really think of
buying the place, he will give you the address of an agent in Mentone
who can tell you everything."
"Then shan't we find you again when we have seen the château?" asked
Virginia wistfully.
The girl smiled for the first time, but there was no brightness in the
smile. "I shall be very pleased to speak with you before you go if there
is anything you care to say to me," she replied, mechanically raising the
great bunch of heliotrope she had been gathering to her lips.
"Now I will call our servant. He will put up your horses while you go in;
though I'm afraid that we have no very good accommodation for them,
as our stables have been empty for a long time."
"Oh, thank you, we needn't give him that trouble," said Trent. "I can
fasten the horses' bridles to some tree or other, and they will be all
right."
The girl disappeared, a slender, youthful figure in the plain black gown,

yet her step, though it was not slow, had none of the lithsomeness of
youth. She seemed to have lost all joy of life, though she could scarcely
have been more than twenty-two or three.
"Another mystery!" Virginia said in a low voice. "How comes she to be
English? Is she the girl they were talking about down below, or is she a
companion?"
"She looks like a banished princess," said Trent. "I never saw such
wonderful eyes. Deep as a well, reflecting a night of stars."
Lady Gardiner's lips tightened a little. She was rather vain of her eyes.
"I think the girl would appear a very ordinary young person," she
remarked, "if one saw her anywhere but here."
George lifted her down from the horse without answering, but Virginia
did not wait to be helped. She sprang to the ground, and by the time
that George had tethered the horses an old man in a faded livery came
limping out from the side door through which the girl in black had
lately disappeared.
Almost crippled with rheumatism, he had still all the dignity of a
trusted servant of an ancient house, and his old eyes seemed gravely to
defy these prosperous young people to criticize his threadbare clothing.
"Mademoiselle" had desired him to take monsieur and mesdames over
the château, he politely announced in French, and went on to beg that
they would give themselves the trouble of being conducted to the door
at the front, that they might go in by the great hall. He also regretted
that the visitors had not arrived earlier in the day, as the rooms could
not be seen at their best advantage so near to sunset.
Virginia's heart began to beat oddly as she entered the house. She had
still the feeling of having left realities behind and strayed into
dreamland; but with the opening of the heavy door it seemed to her that
the dream was about to change into a vision which would mean
something for her future.

Of course it was all nonsense, she told herself, as the old man led them
across the shadowy, tapestry-hung hall, and from one huge, dim,
wainscotted or frescoed room to another; yet always, as they
approached a doorway, she caught herself thinking--"Now a strange
thing is going to happen."
"This is the state drawing-room; this is the library; this is the chapel;
this is the bride's suite," the servant announced laconically. But though
the castle was evidently very ancient and must have a private history of
its own, centuries old, he offered no garrulous details of past grandeur,
as most servants would. As they walked through a dining-room of
magnificent proportions, but meagrely furnished, they passed a
half-open door, and Virginia had a glimpse of a charming little room
with a huge projecting window. Mechanically she paused, then drew
away quickly as she saw that mademoiselle was seated at a table
arranging the flowers she had gathered in the melancholy garden. The
old man hobbled on, as if the door had not existed, and Virginia would
have followed, had not the girl in black stepped forward and invited
them in, with a certain proud humility.
"This is our sitting-room--my aunt's and mine," she said. "My aunt is
not here now, so come in, if you will. It is a small room; still, it is one
of the brightest and most home-like we have left."
She held open the