The Witchs Head | Page 2

the room was opened, and a tall, bony woman, with beady eyes, came through.
"Mr. de Talor to see you, sir, in the office."
Mr. Cardus whistled softly.
"Ah," he said, "tell him I am coming. By the way, Grice, this young gentleman has come to live here; his room is ready, is it not?"
"Yes, sir; Miss Dorothy has been seeing to it."
"Good; where is Miss Dorothy?"
"She has walked into Kesterwick, sir."
"O, and Master Jeremy?"
"He is about, sir; I saw him pass with a ferret a while back."
"Tell Sampson or the groom to find him and send him to Master Ernest here. That will do, thank you. Now, Ernest, I must go. I hope that you will be pretty happy here, my boy, when your trouble has worn off a bit. You will have Jeremy for a companion; he is a lout, and an unpleasant lout, it is true, but I suppose that he is better than nobody. And then there is Dorothy"--and his voice softened as he muttered her name--"but she is a girl."
"Who are Dorothy and Jeremy?" broke in his nephew; "are they your children?"
Mr. Cardus started perceptibly, and his thick white eyebrows contracted over his dark eyes till they almost met.
"Children!" he said, sharply; "I have no children. They are my wards. Their name is Jones;" and he left the room.
"Well, he is a rum sort," reflected Ernest to himself, "and I don't think I ever saw such a shiny head before. I wonder if he oils it? But, at any rate, he is kind to me. Perhaps it would have been better if mother had written to him before. She might have gone on living then."
Rubbing his hand across his face to clear away the water gathering in his eyes at the thought of his dead mother. Ernest made his way to the wide fireplace at the top end of the room, peeped into the ancient inglenooks on each side, and at the old Dutch tiles with which it was lined, and then, lifting his coat after a grown-up fashion, proceeded to warm himself and inspect his surroundings. It was a curious room in which he stood, and its leading feature was old oak-panelling. All down its considerable length the walls were oak-clad to the low ceiling, which was supported by enormous beams of the same material; the shutters of the narrow windows which looked out on the sea were oak, so were the doors and table, and even the mantelshelf. The general idea given by the display of so much timber was certainly one of stolidity, but it could scarcely be called cheerful--not even the numerous suits of armour and shining weapons which were placed about upon the walls could make it cheerful. It was a remarkable room, but its effect upon the observer was undoubtedly depressing.
Just as Ernest was beginning to realise this fact, things were made more lively by the sudden appearance through the swing-door of a large savage-looking bull-terrier, which began to steer for the fireplace, where evidently it was accustomed to lie. On seeing Ernest it stopped and sniffed.
"Hullo, good dog!" said Ernest.
The terrier growled and showed its teeth.
Ernest put out his leg towards it as a caution to keep it off. It acknowledged the compliment by sending its teeth through his trousers. Then the lad, growing wroth, and being not free from fear, seized the poker and hit the dog over the head so shrewdly that the blood streamed from the blow, and the brute, losing his grip, turned and fled howling.
While Ernest was yet warm with the glow of victory, the door once more swung open, violently this time, and through it there came a boy of about his own age, a dirty deep-chested boy, with uncut hair, and a slow heavy face in which were set great grey eyes, just now ablaze with indignation. On seeing Ernest he pulled up much as the dog had done, and regarded him angrily.
"Did you hit my dog?" he asked.
"I hit a dog," replied Ernest politely, "but----"
"I don't want your 'buts.' Can you fight?"
Ernest inquired whether this question was put with a view of gaining general information or for any particular purpose.
"Can you fight?" was the only rejoinder.
Slightly nettled, Ernest replied that under certain circumstances he could fight like a tom-cat.
"Then look out; I'm going to make your head as you have made my dog's."
Ernest, in the polite language of youth, opined that there would be hair and toe-nails flying first.
To this sally, Jeremy Jones, for it was he, replied only by springing at him, his hair streaming behind like a Red Indian's, and, smiting him severely in the left eye, caused him to measure his length upon the floor. Arising quickly, Ernest returned the compliment with interest; but this time they both went down