The House of Whispers | Page 6

the Lord of Glamis, and whose body was never recovered.
Her appearance always boded ill-fortune to the family in residence.
Glencardine was scarcely ever without guests. Lady Heyburn, a
shallow and vain woman many years younger than her husband, was
always surrounded by her own friends. She hated the country, and more
especially what she declared to be the "deadly dullness" of her
Perthshire home. That moment was no exception. There were
half-a-dozen guests staying in the house, but neither Gabrielle nor her
father took the slightest interest in any of them. They had been, of
course, invited to the ball at Connachan, and at dinner had expressed
surprise when their host's pretty daughter, the belle of the county, had
declared that she was not going.
"Oh, Gabrielle is really such a wayward child!" declared her ladyship
to old Colonel Burton at her side. "If she has decided not to go, no
power on earth will persuade her."
"I'm not feeling at all well, mother," the girl responded from the farther
end of the table. "You'll make nice excuses for me, won't you?"
"I think it's simply ridiculous!" declared the Baronet's wife. "Your first
season, too!"
Gabrielle glanced round the table, coloured slightly, but said nothing.
The guests knew too well that in the Glencardine household there had

always been, and always would be, slightly strained relations between
her ladyship and her stepdaughter.
For an hour after dinner all was bustle and excitement; then, in the
covered wagonette, the gay party drove away, while Gabrielle, standing
at the door, shouted after them a merry adieu.
It was a bright, clear, moonlit night, so beautiful indeed that, twisting a
shawl about her shoulders, she went to her father's den, where he
usually smoked alone, and, taking his arm, led him out for a walk into
the park over that gravelled drive where, upon such nights as that, 'twas
said that the unfortunate Lady Jane could be seen.
When alone, the sightless man could find his way quite well with the
aid of his stick. He knew every inch of his domain. Indeed, he could
descend from the castle by the winding path that led deep into the glen,
and across the narrow foot-bridges of the rushing Ruthven Water, or he
could traverse the most intricate paths through the woods by means of
certain landmarks which only he himself knew. He was ever fond of
wandering about the estate alone, and often took solitary walks on
bright nights with his stout stick tapping before him. On rare occasions,
however, when, in the absence of her ladyship, he enjoyed the company
of pretty Gabrielle, they would wander in the park arm-in-arm, chatting
and exchanging confidences.
The departure of their house-party had lifted a heavy weight from both
their hearts. It would be dawn before they returned. She loved her
father, and was never happier than when describing to him things--the
smallest objects sometimes--which he himself could not see.
As they strolled on beneath the shadows of the tall elms, the stillness of
the night was broken only by the quick scurry of a rabbit into the tall
bracken or the harsh cry of some night-bird startled by their approach.
Before them, standing black against the night-sky, rose the quaint,
ponderous, but broken walls of the ancient stronghold, where an owl
hooted weirdly in the ivy, and where the whispering of the waters rose
from the deep below.

"It's a pity, dear, that you didn't go to the dance," the old man was
saying, her arm held within his own. "You've annoyed your mother, I
fear."
"Mother is quite happy with her guests, dad; while I am quite happy
with you," she replied softly. "Therefore, why discuss it?"
"But surely it is not very entertaining for you to remain here with a man
who is blind. Remember, you are young, and these golden days of
youth will very soon pass."
"Why, you always entertain and instruct me, dad," she declared; "from
you I've learnt so much archaeology and so much about mediaeval
seals that I believe I am qualified to become a Fellow of the Society of
Antiquaries, if women were admitted to fellowship."
"They will be one day, my dear, if the Suffragettes are allowed their
own way," he laughed.
And then, during the full hour they strolled together, their conversation
mostly consisted of questions asked by her father concerning some
improvements being made in one of the farms which she had visited on
the previous day, and her description of what had been done.
The stable-clock had struck half-past ten on its musical chimes before
they re-entered the big hall, and, being relieved by Hill of the wraps,
passed together into the library, where, from a locked cabinet in a
corner, Gabrielle took a