The Weapons of Mystery | Page 9

the great Yorkshire hills were covered with snow, the air was bitingly cold, and the leaden sky promised us some real Christmas weather.
I was soon dressed and ready to go down, but on looking at my watch I found I had an hour to spare before breakfast. Arrangements had been made for us to breakfast at ten, and thus be just in time for service at the little village church.
On my way down-stairs I saw Tom Temple, who told me to find my way to the library, where I should be able to pass the time pleasantly. I entered the room, an old-fashioned dark place lined on every side with books. I felt in no mood for looking at them just then, however, and so walked to a window and looked out on the snow-draped landscape that stretched away on every hand. It was a wondrous scene. The snow had fallen steadily all through the night, and no breath of wind had stirred the feathery flakes. Thus trees and bushes were laden with snow crystals, while the spotless white was relieved here and there by some shining evergreen leaves which peeped out amidst their snowy mantles. Ordinarily I should have been impressed by it. Now, however, I could not help thinking of other matters. One face was ever before me, and I constantly wondered whether she were in real danger from these strange men, and whether I should have any part in the labour of delivering her from them. As yet I could do nothing. I knew nothing wrong of them. They might be impostors, they might be penniless adventurers, but I could not prove it. Neither could I tell Miss Forrest what I had heard, while certainly Voltaire had as much right as I had to seek to win her affections.
These thoughts had scarcely passed through my mind when, hearing a sound behind me, I turned and saw Miss Forrest, who met me with a bright "Good-morning" and the compliments of the season. I blushed almost guiltily at the sound of her voice--I, who had for years declared that no woman could interest me enough to make my heart throb one whit the quicker.
"This is a pleasant surprise," I said, after responding to her greeting. "I quite expected to be alone for an hour at least. You see, we all remained up so late last night that it was to me a settled matter that none of you would appear until it was time to start for church."
"I hope I am not disturbing you in your morning's meditations, Mr. Blake," she replied; "I would have stayed in my room had I thought so."
"On the other hand, I am delighted to see you here. Whether you know it or not, I rode from London to Leeds with you yesterday, and I have thought ever since I should like to know you."
She looked straight at me as if she would read my thoughts, and then said pleasantly, "I was on the point of asking you whether such was not the case. I was not sure, because you had your travelling cap pulled over your face."
"How strange, though, that we were both bound for the same place!" I said.
"Yes, it does seem remarkable; and yet it is not so wonderful, after all. I am an old friend and schoolfellow of Emily Temple, while you, I am told, are an old friend and schoolfellow of her brother. Thus nothing is more natural than that we should be invited to such a gathering as this."
"Do you know any of the people who are here?" I asked.
"I have met nearly all the young ladies, but only two of the gentlemen--Mr. Voltaire and Mr. Kaffar. I saw them on the Continent."
"Indeed?" I said, while I have no doubt a dark look passed over my face.
"Do you not like them?" she asked.
"I do not know enough of either," I replied, "to give an answer reasonably, either in the affirmative or the negative. I think my failing is to form hasty judgments concerning people, which, of course, cannot be fair."
I said this rather stammeringly, while she watched me keenly.
"That means that you do not like them," she said.
"Are you quite justified in saying that?" I replied, scarcely knowing what else to say.
"Quite," she said. "You feel towards them just as I do. I was introduced to them in Berlin. Mr. Tom Temple had formed their acquaintance somehow, and seemed wonderfully fascinated by them. I scarcely spoke to them, however, as I left Germany the next day, and was rather surprised to see them here last night."
"Mr. Voltaire is a very fascinating man," I suggested.
"There can be no doubt about that," was her reply.
"And yet I fancy much of his high-flown talk about spiritualism was mere imagination."
"I was inclined