The Evil Guest | Page 6

scene, might have observed a strange gleam in her eyes--a strange
expression in her face--an influence for a moment not angelic, like a
shadow of some passing spirit, cross her visibly, as she leaned over the
gentle lady's neck, and murmured, "Dear madame, how happy--how
very happy you make me." Such a spectator, as he looked at that gentle
lady, might have seen, for one dreamy moment, a lithe and painted
serpent, coiled round and round, and hissing in her ear.
A few minutes more, and mademoiselle was in the solitude of her own
apartment. She shut and bolted the door, and taking from her desk the
letter which she had that morning received, threw herself into an
armchair, and studied the document profoundly. Her actual revision and
scrutiny of the letter itself was interrupted by long intervals of profound
abstraction; and, after a full hour thus spent, she locked it carefully up
again, and with a clear brow, and a gay smile, rejoined her pretty pupil
for a walk.
We must now pass over an interval of a few days, and come at once to
the arrival of Sir Wynston Berkley, which duly occurred upon the
evening of the day appointed. The baronet descended from his chaise
but a short time before the hour at which the little party, which formed
the family at Gray Forest were wont to assemble for the social meal of
supper. A few minutes devoted to the mysteries of the toilet, with the
aid of an accomplished valet, enabled him to appear, as he conceived,
without disadvantage at this domestic reunion.

Sir Wynston Berkley was a particularly gentleman-like person. He was
rather tall, and elegantly made, with gay, easy manners, and something
indefinably aristocratic in his face, which, however, was a little more
worn than his years would have strictly accounted for. But Sir Wynston
had been a roué, and, spite of the cleverest possible making up, the
ravages of excess were very traceable in the lively beau of fifty.
Perfectly well dressed, and with a manner that was ease and gaiety
itself, he was at home from the moment he entered the room. Of course,
anything like genuine cordiality was out of the question; but Mr.
Marston embraced his relative with perfect good breeding, and the
baronet appeared determined to like everybody, and be pleased with
everything. He had not been five minutes in the parlor, chatting gaily
with Mr. and Mrs. Marston and their pretty daughter, when
Mademoiselle de Barras entered the room. As she moved towards Mrs.
Marston, Sir Wynston rose, and, observing her with evident admiration,
said in an undertone, inquiringly, to Marston, who was beside him--
"And this?"
"That is Mademoiselle de Barras, my daughter's governess, and Mrs.
Marston's companion," said Marston, drily.
"Ha!" said Sir Wynston; "I thought you were but three at home just
now, and I was right. Your son is at Cambridge; I heard so from our old
friend, Jack Manbury. Jack has his boy there too. Egad, Dick, it seems
but last week that you and I were there together."
"Yes," said Marston, looking gloomily into the fire, as if he saw, in its
smoke and flicker, the phantoms of murdered time and opportunity;
"but I hate looking back, Wynston. The past is to me but a medley of
ill-luck and worse management."
"Why what an ungrateful dog you are!" returned Sir Wynston, gaily,
turning his back upon the fire, and glancing round the spacious and
handsome, though somewhat faded apartment. "I was on the point of
congratulating you on the possession of the finest park and noblest
demesne in Cheshire, when you begin to grumble. Egad, Dick, all I can
say to your complaint is, that I don't pity you, and there are dozens who

may honestly envy you--that is all."
In spite of this cheering assurance, Marston remained sullenly silent.
Supper, however, had now been served, and the little party assumed
their places at the table.
"I am sorry, Wynston, I have no sport of any kind to offer you here,"
said Marston, "except, indeed, some good trout-fishing, if you like it. I
have three miles of excellent fishing at your command."
"My dear fellow, I am a mere cockney," rejoined Sir Wynston; "I am
not a sportsman; I never tried it, and should not like to begin now. No,
Dick, what I much prefer is, abundance of your fresh air, and the
enjoyment of your scenery. When I was at Rouen three years ago--"
"Ha!--Rouen? Mademoiselle will feel an interest in that; it is her
birth-place," interrupted Marston, glancing at the Frenchwoman.
"Yes--Rouen--ah--yes!" said mademoiselle, with very evident
embarrassment.
Sir Wynston appeared for a moment a little disconcerted too, but rallied
speedily, and pursued his detail of his doings at that fair town