The Witchs Head | Page 2

names,
too; frequently it is a woman's name; sometimes that of a passion;
sometimes that of a vice, but a virtue's--not often."
"And what is the name of yours, uncle?" asked the wondering boy.
"Mine? O, never mind!"
At this moment a swing-door in the side of 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."