The Evil Guest | Page 4

hazard a conjecture, but checked herself,
remembering that even so faint an evidence of a disposition to advise
might possibly be resented by her cold and imperious lord.
"I have considered it, and decided to receive him," he replied.
"Ah! I am afraid--that is, I hope--he may find our housekeeping such as
he can enjoy," she said, with an involuntary expression of surprise; for
she had scarcely had a doubt that her husband would have preferred
evading the visit of his fine friend, under his gloomy circumstances.
"If our modest fare does not suit him," said Marston, with sullen
bitterness, "he can depart as easily as he came. We, poor gentlemen,
can but do our best. I have thought it over, and made up my mind."
"And how soon, my dear Richard, do you intend fixing his arrival?" she
inquired, with the natural uneasiness of one upon whom, in an
establishment whose pretensions considerably exceeded its resources,
the perplexing cares of housekeeping devolved.
"Why, as soon as he pleases," replied he, "I suppose you can easily
have his room prepared by tomorrow or next day. I shall write by this
mail, and tell him to come down at once."

Having said this in a cold, decisive way, he turned and left her, as it
seemed, not caring to be teased with further questions. He took his
solitary way to a distant part of his wild park, where, far from the
likelihood of disturbance or intrusion, he was often wont to amuse
himself for the live-long day, in the sedentary sport of shooting rabbits.
And there we leave him for the present, signifying to the distant
inmates of his house the industrious pursuit of his unsocial occupation,
by the dropping fire that sullenly, from hour to hour, echoed from the
remote woods.
Mrs. Marston issued her orders; and having set on foot all the necessary
preparations for so unwonted an event as a stranger's visit of some
duration, she betook herself to her little boudoir--the scene of many an
hour of patient but bitter suffering, unseen by human eye, and unknown,
except to the just Searcher of hearts, to whom belongs mercy--and
vengeance.
Mrs. Marston had but two friends to whom she had ever spoken upon
the subject nearest her heart--the estrangement of her husband, a sorrow
to which even time had failed to reconcile her. From her children this
grief was carefully concealed. To them she never uttered the semblance
of a complaint. Anything that could by possibility have reflected blame
or dishonor upon their father, she would have perished rather than have
allowed them so much as to suspect. The two friends who did
understand her feelings, though in different degrees, were, one, a good
and venerable clergyman, the Rev. Doctor Danvers, a frequent visitor
and occasional guest at Gray Forest, where his simple manners and
unaffected benignity and tenderness of heart had won the love of all,
with the exception of its master, and commanded even his respect. The
second was no other than the young French governess, Mademoiselle
de Barras, in whose ready sympathy and consolatory counsels she
found no small happiness. The society of this young lady had indeed
become, next to that of her daughter, her greatest comfort and pleasure.
Mademoiselle de Barras was of a noble though ruined French family,
and a certain nameless elegance and dignity attested, spite of her fallen
condition, the purity of her descent. She was accomplished--possessed

of that fine perception and sensitiveness, and that ready power of
self-adaptation to the peculiarities and moods of others, which we term
tact--and was, moreover, gifted with a certain natural grace, and
manners the most winning imaginable. In short, she was a fascinating
companion; and when the melancholy circumstances of her own
situation, and the sad history of her once rich and noble family, were
taken into account, with her striking attractions of person and air, the
combination of all these associations and impressions rendered her one
of the most interesting persons that could well be imagined. The
circumstances of Mademoiselle de Barras's history and descent seemed
to warrant, on Mrs. Marston's part, a closer intimacy and confidence
than usually subsists between parties mutually occupying such a
relation.
Mrs. Marston had hardly established herself in this little apartment,
when a light foot approached, a gentle tap was given at the door, and
Mademoiselle de Barras entered.
"Ah, mademoiselle, so kind--such pretty flowers. Pray sit down," said
the lady, with a sweet and grateful smile, as she took from the tapered
fingers of the foreigner the little bouquet, which she had been at the
pains to gather.
Mademoiselle sat down, and gently took the lady's hand and kissed it.
A small matter will overflow a heart charged with sorrow--a chance
word, a look, some little office