The Crowned Skull | Page 4

things in order. Papa, to the outward world, is a
person of character and with a strong will. But he has my character and
my will.'
'What a terrible wife I shall have,' said Oswald jokingly; 'you will rule
me in every way.'
'Then I shall begin now,' said the girl, laughing, but with a fond look at
his handsome face. 'Stop here and I'll be back as soon as I know why
Mr. Bowring has come. Papa cannot do business without me.'
Somewhat annoyed, Forde lighted a cigarette and leaned over the brick
wall to watch the billows rolling on the shore, while Dericka walked
quickly to the house. She had cause for uneasiness, as she had heard her
father express anything but amiable sentiments towards his tenant. Mr.
Bowring was a rough man, as she had said, for she had met him once or
twice, and having lived in lawless lands he was not likely to be bound
by social rules. Sir Hannibal, weak and refined, would have no chance
against his rugged strength, nor indeed would he have any chance did
Bowring do business with him. The South African, fighting for his own
hand, was always trying to get the better of his landlord with regard to
the Grange, and would have done so on three occasions but for
Dericka's shrewdness. Bowring bore no grudge towards the girl for her
interference, and rather seemed to admire her for her cleverness of
getting the better of him.
But Dericka's fears as to a fracas proved to be vain, for when she
reached the front door she met Sir Hannibal and his visitor, issuing
therefrom. The baronet certainly appeared to be agitated, but Bowring
presented a calm aspect.
The millionaire was a man of bronze, grey as an old wolf, with shaggy
hair fringing a bald head, and shaggy eyebrows overhanging piercing
grey eyes. His long beard was also shaggy, but his skin, in spite of his

sixty years, was fresh and pink as that of the girl who gazed at him.
With the contempt for appearance in which wealthy men indulge on
occasions, he wore a shabby suit of black, with an African felt hat, and
carried in his ungloved hands a queer twisted stick, carved and painted
by the hands of some Zulu witch-doctor. Beside Sir Hannibal, polished,
stately, accurately dressed, and eminently refined, John Bowring
looked like a savage, but a savage dowered with a powerful brain.
Man of bronze as he was the keen grey eyes lighted when they fell on
Dericka, gazing fascinated by his strength.
'Good-day, missy,' he said in a deep, harsh voice, yet in a kindly
manner. 'We have finished our conversation, and now your father--my
old friend,' he cast a side glance on the baronet as he spoke, 'wants to
see the fun.'
'Dericka will conduct you round the grounds,' said Trevick hurriedly.
'Where is Miss Stretton, my dear?'
'In the Tent of Mystery,' replied the girl carelessly; 'at least, I advised
her to go there and have her fortune told.'
Sir Hannibal looked hard at his daughter, trying to discover if her
words were double-edged. But she met his gaze serenely, and presently
the baronet hurried away. Bowring turned to address the girl with
something like a chuckle when behind him appeared a mild face and a
lean, gaunt figure, in sad-coloured feminine garments.
'Why, Sophy, are you not in the tent?' said Dericka, recognising her
governess with surprise.
'I just came in for a few minutes,' said Miss Warry timidly. 'It is trying
work telling fortunes. I read Miss Stretton's hand.'
'What did you read?' asked Dericka, curiously.
'Sorrow and trouble and wickedness,' said the sibyl solemnly, and again
the old millionaire chuckled.

'Do you really profess to tell the future?' he asked contemptuously.
'I really do,' said the mild governess, nettled by his disbelief, 'and if you
will come with me to the tent I can tell yours.'
'My future is already my past,' said Bowring harshly; 'you can tell me
nothing likely to interest me. However, I wish to give some money to
the chapel, and as I give nothing for nothing I may as well buy a few
fairy stories with my guinea.'
'I may make mistakes,' said Miss Warry simply and blinked with her
tired old eyes, 'and sometimes I do, as I am not sufficiently conversant
with the psychic life. But I do occasionally foretell things which really
happen.'
'Let us see what will happen to me,' said Bowring jokingly, and with a
grim smile walked after Miss Warry, who floated--the term is very
appropriate, for she did not walk like an ordinary human
being--towards the Tent of Mystery.
It was now about four o'clock, and Dericka saw her father bidding
farewell to Miss Stretton,