Wylders Hand | Page 5

was
accounted a miser, and estimated to have saved I dare not say how
much money in the Wylder family--kind to me with the bread-and-jam
and Naples-biscuit-kindness of her species, in old times)--stood in
fancy at the doorway. She, too, was a dream, and, I dare say, her money
spent by this time. And that other dream, to which she often led me,
with the large hazel eyes, and clear delicate tints--so sweet, so riante,
yet so sad; poor Lady Mary Brandon, dying there--so unhappily
mated--a young mother, and her baby sleeping in long 'Broderie
Anglaise' attire upon the pillow on the sofa, and whom she used to
show me with a peeping mystery, and her finger to her smiling lip, and
a gaiety and fondness in her pretty face. That little helpless, groping,
wailing creature was now the Dorcas Brandon, the mistress of the

grand old mansion and all its surroundings, who was the heroine of the
splendid matrimonial compromise which was about to reconcile a feud,
and avert a possible lawsuit, and, for one generation, at least, to
tranquillise the troubled annals of the Brandons and Wylders.
And now the ancient gray chapel, with its stained window, and store of
old Brandon and Wylder monuments among its solemn clump of
elm-trees, flitted by on my right; and in a moment more we drew up at
the great gate on the left; not a hundred yards removed from it, and
with an eager recognition, I gazed on the noble front of the old
manorial house.
Up the broad straight avenue with its solemn files of gigantic timber
towering at the right and the left hand, the chaise rolled smoothly, and
through the fantastic iron gate of the courtyard, and with a fine
swinging sweep and a jerk, we drew up handsomely before the
door-steps, with the Wylder arms in bold and florid projection carved
above it.
The sun had just gone down. The blue shadows of twilight overcast the
landscape, and the mists of night were already stealing like thin smoke
among the trunks and roots of the trees. Through the stone mullions of
the projecting window at the right, a flush of fire-light looked pleasant
and hospitable, and on the threshold were standing Lord Chelford and
my old friend Mark Wylder; a faint perfume of the mildest cheroot
declared how they had been employed.
So I jumped to the ground and was greeted very kindly by the smokers.
'I'm here, you know, _in loco parentis_;--my mother and I keep watch
and ward. We allow Wylder, you see, to come every day to his
devotions. But you are not to go to the Brandon Arms--you got my note,
didn't you?'
I had, and had come direct to the Hall in consequence.
I looked over the door. Yes, my memory had served me right. There
were the Brandon arms, and the Brandon quartered with the Wylder;

but the Wylder coat in the centre, with the grinning griffins for
supporters, and flaunting scrolls all round, and the ominous word
'resurgam' underneath, proclaimed itself sadly and vauntingly over the
great entrance. I often wonder how the Wylder coat came in the centre;
who built the old house--a Brandon or a Wylder; and if a Wylder, why
was it Brandon Hall?
Dusty and seedy somewhat, as men are after a journey, I chatted with
Mark and the noble peer for a few minutes at the door, while my valise
and et ceteras were lifted in and hurried up the stairs to my room,
whither I followed them.
While I was at my toilet, in came Mark Wylder laughing, as was his
wont, and very unceremoniously he took possession of my easy-chair,
and threw his leg over the arm of it.
'I'm glad you're come, Charlie; you were always a good fellow, and I
really want a hand here confoundedly. I think it will all do very nicely;
but, of course, there's a lot of things to be arranged--settlements, you
know--and I can't make head or tail of their lingo, and a fellow don't
like to sign and seal hand over head--you would not advise that, you
know; and Chelford is a very good fellow, of course, and all that--but
he's taking care of Dorcas, you see; and I might be left in the lurch.'
'It is a better way, at all events, Mark, than Wylder versus Trustees of
Brandon, minor,' said I.
'Well, things do turn out very oddly; don't they?' said Mark with a sly
glance of complacency, and his hands in his pockets. 'But I know you'll
hold the tiller till I get through; hang me if I know the soundings, or
where I'm going; and you have the chart by heart, Charlie.'
'I'm afraid you'll find me by no means so well