The Trespasser | Page 8

when you come back. But mind, don't leave just after
dinner. Stay and talk; you must tell me everything that's said and done
--and about the stranger."
CHAPTER II
IN WHICH HE CLAIMS HIS OWN
Meanwhile, without a word, Gaston had mounted, ridden to the castle,
and passed through the open gates into the court-yard. Inside he paused.
In the main building many lights were burning. There came a rattle of
wheels behind him, and he shifted to let a carriage pass. Through the
window of the brougham he could see the shimmer of satin, lace, and
soft white fur, and he had an instant's glance of a pretty face.
The carriage drew up to the steps, and presently three ladies and a
brusque gentleman passed into the hall-way, admitted by powdered
footmen. The incident had a manner, an air, which struck Gaston, he
knew not why. Perhaps it was the easy finesse of ceremonial. He
looked at Brillon. He had seen him sit arms folded like that, looking
from the top of a bluff down on an Indian village or a herd of buffaloes.
There was wonder, but no shyness or agitation, on his face; rather the
naive, naked look of a child. Belward laughed.
"Come, Brillon; we are at home."
He rode up to the steps, Jacques following. A foot man appeared and
stared. Gaston looked down on him neutrally, and dismounted. Jacques
did the same. The footman still stared. Another appeared behind.
Gaston eyed the puzzled servant calmly.
"Why don't you call a groom?!" he presently said. There was a cold
gleam in his eye.
The footman shrank.
"Yessir, yessir," he said confusedly, and signalled. The other footman
came down, and made as if to take the bridle. Gaston waved him back.

None too soon, for the horse lunged at him.
"A rub down, a pint of beer, and water and feed in an hour, and I'll
come to see him myself late to-night." Jacques had loosened the
saddle-bags and taken them off. Gaston spoke to the horse, patted his
neck, and gave him to the groom. Then he went up the steps, followed
by Jacques. He turned at the door to see the groom leading both horses
off, and eyeing Saracen suspiciously. He laughed noiselessly.
"Saracen 'll teach him things," he said. "I might warn him, but it's best
for the horses to make their own impressions."
"What name, sir?!" asked a footman.
"You are--?"
"Falby, Sir."
"Falby, look after my man Brillon here, and take me to Sir William."
"What name, sir?"
Gaston, as if with sudden thought, stepped into the light of the candles,
and said in a low voice: "Falby, don't you know me?"
The footman turned a little pale, as his eyes, in spite of themselves,
clung to Gaston's. A kind of fright came, and then they steadied.
"Oh yes, sir," he said mechanically.
"Where have you seen me?"
"In the picture on the wall, sir."
"Whose picture, Falby?"
"Sir Gaston Belward, Sir."
A smile lurked at the corners of Gaston's mouth.

"Gaston Belward. Very well, then you know what to say to Sir William.
Show me into the library."
"Or the justices' room, sir?"
"The justices' room will do."
Gaston wondered what the justices' room was. A moment after he stood
in it, and the dazed Falby had gone, trying vainly to reconcile the
picture on the wall, which, now that he could think, he knew was very
old, with this strange man who had sent a curious cold shiver through
him. But, anyhow, he was a Belward, that was certain: voice, face,
manner showed it. But with something like no Belward he had ever
seen. Left to himself, Gaston looked round on a large, severe room. Its
use dawned on him. This was part of the life: Sir William was a Justice
of the Peace. But why had he been brought here? Why not to the library
as himself had suggested? There would be some awkward hours for
Falby in the future. Gaston had as winning a smile, as sweet a manner,
as any one in the world, so long as a straight game was on; but to cross
his will with the other--he had been too long a power in that wild
country where his father had also been a power! He did not quite know
how long he waited, for he was busy with plans as to his career at
Ridley Court. He was roused at last by Falby's entrance. A keen, cold
look shot from under his straight brows.
"Well?!" he asked.
"Will you step into the library, sir? Sir William will see you there."
Falby tried to avoid his look, but his eyes were compelled, and Gaston
said:
"Falby, you will always hate to enter this room." Falby