It had been raining all the morning, and it was raining still, in that feeble and desultory1 manner which presages2 a change of some kind, when the postman came with the long-expected Indian letter.
He was later than usual. It was nearly two o'clock, and Isola had been watching for him since one, watching with an unread book in her lap, listening for the click of the gate. She had been sitting by the open window, looking out at the wet landscape, the glistening3 hedgerow and dull grey river, with the great, green hill beyond, a steep slope of meadow land, dotted with red cattle, and so divided by hedgerows, as to look like a Titanic4 chessboard.
At last she heard the familiar tread of the postman's heavy boots, and saw his shining oilskin hat moving above the edge of the hollies5, and heard the click of the iron latch6 as he came into the little garden.
She called to him from the window, and he came tramping across the sodden8 grass and put three letters into her outstretched hand.
One from her married sister in Hans Place. That would keep. One from an old schoolfellow. That would keep. And one—the long-looked-for Indian letter, which she tore open eagerly, and read hurriedly, devouring9 the close lines,[Pg 2] in the neat, black penmanship, with its decided10 up and down strokes, and legible characters, so firm, so strong, so straightforward11, like the nature of the man who wrote the letter.
The tears sprang to her eyes as she came to the end, and her hands crushed the thin paper in a paroxysm of vexation or despair.
"Six months—perhaps a year, before he can come back, and I am to go on living here—alone, unless I like to send for a girl whose face I hardly know, to keep me company, and cheer me with her good spirits. I want no strange girls. I want no one's good spirits. I hate people with good spirits. I want him, and nobody but him! It is hard that we should be parted like this. I ought to have gone with him, in spite of all the doctors in Christendom."
She relented towards the letter which her feverish12 hand had used so badly. She smoothed out the flimsy paper carefully with that pretty little hand, and then she re-read the husband's letter, so full of grave tenderness and fond, consoling words.
He was with his regiment14 in Burmah, and the present aspect of things gave him no hope of being able to return to England for the next half-year, and there was no certainty that the half-year might not be stretched into a whole year. The separation could not be more irksome to his dearest Isola than it was to him, her husband of little more than a year: but not for worlds would he have exposed her to the risks of that climate. He took comfort in thinking of her in the snug15 little Cornish nest, with his good Tabitha.
Isola kissed the letter before she put it in her pocket, and then she looked round the room rather dolefully, as if the Cornish nest were not altogether paradise. And yet it was a pretty little room enough, half dining-room, half study, with handsomely bound books on carved oak shelves, and photographs and bright draperies, and cosily16 cushioned bamboo chairs, and a bird-cage, and a Persian cat. Nor was the garden outside flowerless, even on the threshold[Pg 3] of winter. The purple blossoms of the veronica were untouched by frost; there were pale tea roses gleaming yonder against the dark gloss17 of holly18 and laurel. There were single dahlias of vividest red, like flaming stars; and close under the open window, last splendour of departed summer, the waxen chalice19 of a golden lily trembled on its tall stem, and filled the room with perfume.
The rain was over—the monotonous20 drip, drip, which had irritated Isola's nerves all that morning, had ceased at last. She left the modest little lunch untouched upon the table, and went out into the hall, where her hat and jacket hung handy for any impromptu21 ramble22. No need to look at one's self in the glass before going out of doors, at twenty years of age, and in such a place as Trelasco. Isola took her stick from the stand, a green orange stick, bought in the sunny South, on her way to Venice with her husband last year—a leisurely23 trip, which had been to them as a second honeymoon25 after a few happy months of wedlock26. Then had come the sadness of parting, and a swift and lonely journey for the young wife—a lonely return to the Angler's Nest, Trelasco, that cosy27 cottage between Lostwithiel and Fowey, which Major Disney had bought and furnished before his marriage. He was a son of the soil, and he had chosen to pitch his tent in that remote spot for the sake of old associations, and from a fixed28 belief that there was no locality of equal merit for health, beauty, and all other virtues29 which a man should seek in his home.
Isola rarely touched that stick without remembering the day it was bought—a rainy day in Milan—just such a day as this, a low, grey sky, and an oppressive mildness of atmosphere. She remembered, with the sick pain that goes with long partings, how she and her husband had dawdled30 away an afternoon in the Victor Emmanuel Gallery, buying handkerchiefs and neckties, a book or two, a collection of photographs, and finally the orange stick.
She went out to walk down her depression before teatime, if possible. She went along a narrow path by the river, then[Pg 4] turned into a road that skirted those green pastures which rose sheer till the ragged31 edge of the topmost boundary seemed to touch the dim, grey sky. She passed the village inn, deadly quiet at this season and at this hour. She passed the half-dozen decent cottages, and the three or four genteeler houses, each in its neatly32 kept garden, and she walked with quick, light step along the wet road, her useful tailor-gown well clear of the mud, her stick striking the hedgerow now and then, as she swung it to and fro in dreamy thought.
A long, lonely winter to look forward to—a winter like the last—with her books and drawing-board, and her cottage piano, and the cat and the fox-terrier, and Tabitha for her daily companions. There were a few neighbours within a radius33 of half a dozen miles, who had been very civil to her; who called upon her, say once in six weeks; who sometimes invited her to a stately dinner-party, and sometimes at a suspiciously short notice, which made her feel she was wanted to fill a gap; who made her free of their tennis lawns; and who talked to her on Sundays after church, and were always very particular in inquiring for news from India. There was not one among them for whom she cared; not one to whom she would have liked to pour out her thoughts about Keats or Shelley, or to whom she would have confided34 her opinion of Byron. She was more interested in Bulwer's "Audley Egerton" than in any of those flesh and blood neighbours. She was happier sitting by her chimney corner with a novel than in the best society available within a drive of Trelasco.
She struck off the high road into a lane, a lane that led to the base of a wilder hill than that where the red cattle were grazing. The crest35 of the hill was common land, and dark fir-trees made a ragged line against the autumn sky, and the view from the summit was wide and varied36, with a glimpse of the great brown cliffs and the dark, grey sea far off to the west, to that dim distance where the Dodman shut off the watery37 way to the new world. On the landward slope of[Pg 5] that wild-looking ridge38 was the Mount, Lord Lostwithiel's place, uninhabited for the greater part of the year except by servants, his lordship being the very last kind of man to bury himself alive in a remote Cornish fastness, a long day's journey from the London theatres, and the R.Y.S. Clubhouse at Cowes.
Who was Lord Lostwithiel? Well, in the estimation of Trelasco he was the only nobleman in England, or say that he was to all other peers as the sun to the planets. He belonged to Trelasco by reason of his large landed estate and the accident of his birth, which had taken place at the Mount; and, although his character and way of life were not altogether satisfactory to the village mind, Trelasco made the best of him.
Isola Disney climbed the hill, an easy matter to light-footed twenty. She stood amidst the tall fir columns, and looked down at the November landscape, very distinctly defined in the soft, grey atmosphere. She could see the plough moving slowly across the red earth in the fields below, the clumsy farm horses, white against the deep, rich red. She could see the winding39 river, bluish grey, between its willowy banks, and far off beyond Fowey there rose the wooded hills, where the foliage40 showed orange and tawny41 and russet between the blue-grey water and the pale grey sky.
She loved this lonely hill, and felt her spirits rise in this lighter42 atmosphere as she stood resting against the scaly43 trunk of a Scotch44 fir, with the wind blowing her hair. It was a relief to escape from the silence of those empty rooms, where she had only the sleepy Persian or the hyper-intelligent fox-terrier for company. There was a longer and more picturesque45 way home than that by which she had come. She could descend46 the other side of the hill, skirt the gardens of the Mount, by a path that led through the Park to a lodge47 gate on the Fowey road. It was one of her favourite walks, and she was so accustomed to seeing the shutters48 closed at the great house that she never expected[Pg 6] to meet any one more alarming than a farm-servant or a cottager's child.
There was a thick chestnut49 copse upon one side, and the wide expanse of undulating turf, with an occasional clump50 of choice timber, upon the other. The house stood on higher ground than the park, but was hemmed51 in and hidden by shrubberies that had overgrown the intention of the landscape gardener who planned them. Only the old grey-stone gables, with their heavy slabs52 of slate53, and the tall, clustered chimneys, showed above the copper54 beeches55, and deodaras, the laurels56, and junipers, and Irish yews57, and the shining masses of arbutus with crimson58 berries gleaming amongst the green. Isola had never seen that old Manor59 House nearer than she saw it to-day, from the path, which was a public right of way through the park. She knew that the greater part of the building dated from the reign60 of Charles the Second, but that there were older bits; and that about the whole, and about those ancient rooms and passages most especially, there were legends and traditions and historical associations, not without the suspicion of ghosts. The Mount was not a show place, like the home of the Treffrys at Fowey, and of late years it had been very seldom inhabited, except by certain human fossils who had served the house of Hulbert for two generations. She had often looked longingly61 at those quaint62 old gables, those clustered stone chimneys, likening the house amidst its overgrown shrubberies to the Palace of the Sleeping Beauty, and had wished that she were on friendly terms with one of those drowsy63 old retainers.
"I dare say if I were daring enough to open one of the doors and go in I should find them all asleep," she thought, "and I might roam all over the house without awakening64 anybody." She was too depressed65 to-day to give more than a careless, unseeing glance at those many gables as she walked along the muddy path beside the dripping copse. The chestnut boughs66 were nearly bare, but here and there clusters of bright yellow leaves were still hanging, shining[Pg 7] like pale gold in the last watery gleams of the sun; and though the leaves were lying sodden and brown among the rank, wet grass, there were emerald mosses67 and cool, green ferns, and red and orange fungi68 to give colour to the foreground, and to the little vistas69 that opened here and there amidst the underwood.
Those final yellow gleams were fading low down in the western sky as Isola turned her face towards the river and the Angler's Nest, and just above that pale radiance there stretched a dense70 black cloud, like a monstrous71 iron bar, which she felt must mean mischief72. She looked at that black line apprehensively73. She was three miles from home, without cloak or umbrella, and with no available shelter within three-quarters of a mile.
She quickened her pace, watching the fading light and lowering cloud, expecting thunder, lightning, hail, she knew not what. A sudden deluge74 settled the question. Torrential rain! That was the meaning of the inky bar above the setting sun. She looked round her helplessly. Should she dart75 into the copse, and try to shelter herself amidst those leafless twigs76, those slender withies and saplings? Better to face the storm and plod77 valiantly78 on. Her neat little cloth gown would not be much the worse for a ducking; her neat little feet were accustomed to rapid walking. Should she run? No; useless when there were three miles to be got over. A brisk, steady tramp would be better. But, brave as she was, that fierce rain was far from pleasant. It cut into her eyes and blinded her. She had to grope her way along the path with her stick.
"Pray let me take you to the house," said a voice close beside her, a man's voice—low and deep, and with the accents of refinement79.
Could one of Lord Lostwithiel's fossilized servants talk like that? Impossible. She looked up, as well as she could, under that blinding downpour, and saw a tall man standing80 beside the pathway with his back to the copse. He was over six feet two and of slim, active figure. He was pale,[Pg 8] and wore a short, dark beard, and the eyes which looked at Isola out of the pale, thin face were very dark. That was about as much as she could see of the stranger in the November dusk.
"Pray let me persuade you to come to the house," he said urgently. "You are being drenched81. It is absolutely dreadful to see anybody out in such rain—and there is no other shelter within reach. Let me take you there. My housekeeper82 will dry your hat and jacket for you. I ought to introduce myself, perhaps. I am Lord Lostwithiel."
She had guessed as much. Who else would speak with authority in that place? She dimly recalled a photograph, pale and faded, of a tall man in a yeomanry uniform, seen in somebody's album; and the face of the photograph had been the same elongated83 oval face—with long thin nose, and dark eyes a shade too near together—which was looking down at her now.
She felt it would be churlish to refuse shelter so earnestly offered.
"You are very kind," she faltered84. "I am sorry to be so troublesome. I ought not to have come so far in such doubtful weather."
She went with him meekly85, walking her fastest under the pelting86 rain, which was at her back now as they made for the house.
"Have you really come far?" he asked.
"From Trelasco. I live at the Angler's Nest, a cottage by the river. You know it, perhaps?"
"Yes. I know every house at Trelasco. Then you are staying with Mrs. Disney, I presume?"
"I am Mrs. Disney."
"You?"—with intense surprise. "I beg your pardon. You are so young. I imagined Mrs. Disney an older person."
He glanced at the girlish figure, the pale delicate face, and told himself that his new acquaintance could scarcely be more than nineteen or twenty. He had met Major Disney, a man who looked about forty—a lucky fellow to have caught such a pretty bird as this.
[Pg 9]
They had reached the shrubbery by this time, and were hurrying along a winding walk where the rain reached them with less violence. The narrow walk brought them on to a broad terrace in front of the house. Lostwithiel opened a half-glass door, and led Mrs. Disney into the library, a long, low room, full of curious nooks and corners, formed by two massive chimney-pieces, and by the projecting wings of the heavy oak bookcases. Isola had never seen any room so filled with books, nor had she ever seen a room with two such chimney-pieces, of statuary marble, yellowed with age, elaborately carved with cherubic heads, and Cupids, and torches and festal wreaths, bows and arrows, lyres and urns87.
A wood fire was burning upon one hearth88, and it was hither Lostwithiel brought his guest, wheeling a large armchair in front of the blaze.
"If you will take off your hat and jacket, and sit down there, I'll get my housekeeper to attend to you," he said, with his hand upon the bell.
"You are more than kind. I must hurry home directly the rain abates89 a little. I have a careful old servant who is sure to be anxious about me," said Isola, devouring the room with her eyes, wanting to take in every detail of this enchanted90 castle.
She might never enter it again, perhaps. Lord Lostwithiel was so seldom there. His absenteeism was the lament91 of the neighbourhood. The things he ought to have done and did not do would have filled a book. He had been wild in his youth. He had once owned a theatre. He had done, or was supposed to have done, things which were spoken of with bated breath; but of late years he had developed new ambitions, and had done with theatrical93 speculations94. He had become literary, scientific, political. He was one of the lights of the intellectual world, or of that small section of the intellectual world which is affiliated95 to the smart world. He knew all the clever people in London, and a good many of the intellectualities of Paris,[Pg 10] Berlin, and Vienna. He had never married; but it was supposed that he would eventually marry, before he was forty, for instance, and that he would make a great match. He was not rich, but he was Lord Lostwithiel. He was by no means handsome, but he was said to be one of the most fascinating men in London.
Isola pulled off her jacket slowly, looking about her all the time; and Lostwithiel forbore from offering her any assistance, lest he should intensify96 her evident shyness.
A man in plain clothes, who looked more like a valet than a butler, answered the bell.
"Send Mrs. Mayne, and bring tea," ordered his lordship.
What a slender, girlish form it was which the removal of the tweed jacket revealed! The slim waist and somewhat narrow shoulders betokened97 a delicacy98 of constitution. The throat was beautiful, milk white, the throat of Diana, and the head, now the hat was off, would also have done for Diana; a small classic head, with soft, brown hair drawn99 smoothly100 away from the low, white brow and rolled into a knot at the back. The features were as delicate as the complexion101, in which there was no brilliancy of colouring, only a paleness as of ivory. The eyes were dark grey, with long, brown lashes102, and their present expression was between anxiety and wondering interest. Lostwithiel was not such a coxcomb103 as to appropriate that look of interest. He saw that it was his house and not himself which inspired the feeling.
"You like old houses, I can see, Mrs. Disney," he said, smiling at her.
"Intensely. They are histories in brick and stone, are they not? I dare say there are stories about this room."
"Innumerable stories. I should have to ransack104 the Record Office for some of them, and to draw upon a very bad memory to a perilous105 extent for others."
"Is it haunted?"
"I am not one of those privileged persons who see ghosts; neither seventh son of a seventh son, nor of the mediumistic[Pg 11] temperament106; but I have heard of an apparition107 pervading108 the house on occasions, and being seen in this room, which once formed part of a certain small monastery109, put down by Henry VIII., and recorded in the Black Book. As one of the oldest rooms it is naturally uncanny; but as I have never suffered any inconvenience in that line, I make it my den7."
"It is the most picturesque room I ever saw. And what a multitude of books!" exclaimed Isola.
"Yes; I have a good many books. I am always buying; but I find I never have exactly the book I want. And as I have no librarian I am too apt to forget the books I have. If I could afford to spend more of my life at the Mount, I would engage some learned gentleman, whose life had been a failure, to take care of my books. Are you Cornish, like your husband, Mrs. Disney?"
"No. I was born at Dinan."
"What! in that medi?val Breton city? You are not French, though, I think?"
"My mother and father were both English, but my sister and I were born and brought up in Brittany."
Lostwithiel questioned no further. He had a shrewd idea that when English people live for a good many years in a Breton town they have reasons of their own, generally financial, for their choice of a settlement. He was a man who could not have spent six months of his life away from London or Paris.
The housekeeper made her appearance and offered her services. She wrung110 the rain out of Isola's cloth skirt, and wiped the muddy hem24. She took charge of the jacket and hat, and at Lostwithiel's suggestion she remained to pour out the tea. She was a dignified111 person, in a black silk gown and a lace cap, and she treated her master as if he had been a demi-god. Isola could not be afraid of taking tea in this matronly presence, yet she kept looking nervously112 towards the window in front of her, where the rain beat with undiminished force, and where the night was closing in.
[Pg 12]
"I see you are anxious to be on your way home, Mrs. Disney," said Lostwithiel, who had nothing to do but watch her face, such an expressive113 face at all times, so picturesquely114 beautiful when touched by the flickering115 light of the wood fire. "If you were to wait for fine weather you might be here all night, and your good people at home would be frantic116. I'll order a carriage, and you can be at home in three-quarters of an hour."
"Oh no, Lord Lostwithiel, I couldn't give you so much trouble. If your housekeeper will be so kind as to lend me a cloak and umbrella, I can get home very well. And I had better start at once."
"In the rain, alone, and in the darkness? It will be dark before you are home, in any case. No, Mrs. Disney, if I were to permit such a thing I should expect Major Disney to call me out directly he came home. He is in India, I think?"
"He is with his regiment in Burmah."
"Do you expect him home soon?"
"Not very soon; not for six months, or perhaps longer. It was that which made me walk so far."
Lostwithiel looked puzzled.
"I mean that I was so disappointed by his letter—a letter I received to-day—that I went out for a long ramble to walk down my bad spirits, and hardly knew how far I was going. It has made me inflict118 trouble on you, and Mrs.——"
"Mayne. Both Mrs. Mayne and I are delighted to be of use to you. Order the station brougham, Dalton, immediately," to the man who answered his bell. "The carriage can hardly be ready in less than twenty minutes, so pray try to do justice to Mrs. Mayne's tea."
"It is delicious tea," said Isola, enjoying the fire-glow, and the dancing lights upon the richly bound books in all their varieties of colouring, from black and crimson and orange-tawny to vellum diapered with gold.
She was evidently relieved in her mind by the knowledge that she was to be driven home presently.
[Pg 13]
"If you are really interested in this old house you must come some sunny morning and let Mrs. Mayne show you over it," said Lostwithiel, establishing himself with his cup and saucer upon the other side of the hearth. "She knows all the old stories, and she has a better memory than I."
"I should like so much to do so next summer, when my husband can come with me."
"I'm afraid Major Disney won't care much about the old place. He is a native of these parts, and must have been here often in my father's time. I shall hope to receive you both, if I am here next October for the shooting—but there is no need to postpone119 your inspection120 of the house to the remote future. Come on the first fine morning that you have nothing better to do. Mrs. Mayne is always at home; and I am almost always out of doors in the morning. You can have the house to yourselves, and talk about ghosts to your hearts' content."
"Oh, my lord, I hope I know better than to say anything disrespectful of the house," protested Mrs. Mayne.
"My dear Mayne, a family ghost is as respectable an institution as a family tree."
Isola murmured some vague acknowledgment of his civility. She was far too shy to have any idea of taking advantage of his offer. To re-enter that house alone of her own accord would be impossible. By-and-by, with her husband at her side, she would be bold enough to do anything, to accept any hospitality that Lostwithiel might be moved to offer. He would invite Martin, perhaps, for the shooting, or to a luncheon121, or a dinner. She wondered vaguely122 if she would ever possess a gown good enough to wear at a dinner-party in such a house.
After this there came a brief silence. Mrs. Mayne stood straight and prim123 behind the tea-table. Nothing would have induced her to sit in his lordship's presence, albeit124 she had dandled him in her arms when there was much less of him than of the cambric and fine flannel125 which composed his raiment, and albeit his easy familiarity might have invited[Pg 14] some forgetfulness of class distinctions. Mrs. Mayne fully13 understood that she was wanted there to set the stranger at her ease, and she performed her mission; but even her presence could not lessen126 Isola's shyness. She felt like a bird caught in a net, or fluttering in the grasp of some strong but kindly127 hand. She sat listening for carriage wheels, and only hearing the dull thumping128 of her own scared heart.
And yet he was so kind, and yet he so fully realized her idea of high-bred gentleness, that she need hardly have been so troubled by the situation. She stole a glance at him as he stood by the chimney-piece, in a thoughtful attitude, looking down at the burning logs on the massive old andirons. The firelight shining on a face above it will often give a sinister129 look to the openest countenance130; and to-night Lostwithiel's long, narrow face, dark, deep-set eyes, and pointed117 beard had some touch of the diabolical131 in that red and uncertain glow; an effect that was but instantaneous, for as the light changed the look passed, and she saw him as he really was, with his pale and somewhat sunken cheeks, and eyes darkly grave, of exceeding gentleness.
"Have you lived long at the Angler's Nest, Mrs. Disney?" he asked.
"Nearly a year and a half; ever since my marriage, with just one interval132 on the Continent before Martin went to India."
"Then I need not ask if you are heartily133 sick of the place?"
"Indeed, I should not be tired of the cottage or the neighbourhood if my husband were at home. I am only tired of solitude134. He wants me to send for his sister—a girl who has not long left school—to keep me company; but I detest135 school-girls, and I would much rather be alone than put up with a silly companion."
"You are wise beyond your years, Mrs. Disney. Avoid the sister, by all means. She would bore you to death—a scampering136, exuberant137 girl, who would develop hysteria[Pg 15] after one month of Cornish dulness. Besides, I am sure you have resources of your own, and that you would rather endure solitude than uncongenial company."
Isola sighed, and shook her head rather dolefully, tracing the pattern of the Persian rug with the point of her stick.
"I am very fond of books, and of music," she said; "but one gets tired of being alone after a time. It seems such ages since Martin and I said good-bye in Venice. I was dreadfully unhappy at first. I stand almost alone in the world, when I am parted from him."
"Your father and mother are dead?" in gentlest inquiry138.
"Oh no; they are not dead; they are at Dinan," she said, almost as if it were the same thing.
"And that is very far from Trelasco."
"They never leave Dinan. The kind of life suits them. Mamma knits; papa has his club and his English newspapers. People enjoy the English papers so much more when they live abroad than when they are at home. Mamma is a very bad sailor. It would be a risk for her to cross. If my sister or I were dangerously ill, mamma would come. But it would be at the hazard of her life. Papa has often told me so."
"And your father, is he a bad sailor?"
"He is rather worse than mamma."
"Then I conclude you were married at Dinan?"
"Oh yes; I never left Brittany until my wedding-day."
"What a pretty idea! It is as if Major Disney had found a new kind of wild flower in some cranny of the old grey wall that guards the town."
"You know Dinan?"
"There are very few places within easy reach of a yachtsman that I don't know. I have anchored in almost every bay between Cherbourg and Brest, and have rambled139 inland whenever there was anything worth seeing within a day's journey from the coast. Yes, I know Dinan well. Strange to think that I may have passed you in the street there. Do you sketch140, by the way?"
[Pg 16]
"A little."
"Ah, then, perhaps you are one of the young ladies I have seen sitting at street corners, or under archways, doing fearful and wonderful things with a box of moist colours and a drawing-board."
"The young ladies who sit about the streets are tourists," said Isola, with a look of disgust.
"I understand. The resident ladies would no more do such things than they would sit upon the pavement and make pictures of salmon141 or men-of-war in coloured chalks, like our Metropolitan142 artists."
"I think I hear a carriage," said Isola, putting down her cup and saucer, and looking at her jacket, which Mrs. Mayne was holding before the fire.
"Yes, that is the carriage," answered Lostwithiel, opening the glass door. "What a night! The rain is just as bad as it was when I brought you indoors."
"If you will accept the use of a shawl, ma'am, it would be safer than putting on this damp jacket."
"Yes, Mayne, get your shawl. Mrs. Disney will wear it, I know."
The housekeeper bustled143 out, and Lostwithiel and his guest were alone, looking at each other somewhat helplessly, as they stood far apart, she in the glow of the hearth, he in the darkness near the door, and feeling that every available subject of conversation had been exhausted144. Their embarrassment145 was increased when Dalton and a footman came in with two great lamps and flooded the room with light.
"I hardly know how to thank you for having taken so much trouble about me," Isola faltered presently, under that necessity to say something which is one of the marks of shyness.
"There has been no trouble. I only hope I got you out of that pelting rain in time to save you from any evil consequences. Strange that our acquaintance should begin in such an accidental manner. I shall be glad to know more of Major Disney when he comes home, and in the meantime[Pg 17] I hope I shall have the pleasure of meeting you sometimes. No doubt you know everybody in the neighbourhood, so we can hardly help running against each other somewhere."
Isola smiled faintly, thinking that the chances of any such meeting were of the slightest; but she did not gainsay146 him. He wanted to say something courteous147 no doubt, and had gone into no nice question of probabilities before he spoke92. She had heard him described by a good many people, who had hinted darkly at his shortcomings, but had all agreed as to his politeness and persuasive148 powers.
"A man who would talk over Satan himself," said the village lawyer.
Mrs. Mayne reappeared with a comfortable Scotch plaid, which she wrapped carefully about Mrs. Disney, in a pleasant, motherly fashion. The rain had all been shaken off the little felt hat, which had no feathers or frippery to spoil. People who live in the west of England make their account with wet weather.
Lord Lostwithiel handed his guest into the carriage, and stood bareheaded in the rain to wish her good-bye before he shut the door.
"I shall be very anxious to know that you have escaped cold," he said, at the last moment. "I hope you won't think me a nuisance if I call to-morrow to inquire."
He shut the door quickly, and the brougham drove off before she could answer. She was alone in the darkness in the snug, warm little carriage. There was a clock ticking beside her, a sound that startled her in the stillness. There was a basket hanging in front of her, and an odour of cigars and Russia leather. There was a black bear rug, lined with white fleeciness, which almost filled the carriage. She had never sat in such a carriage. How different from the mouldy old brougham in which she occasionally went to dinner-parties—a capacious vehicle with a bow window, like a seaside parlour!
She leant back in a corner of the little carriage, wrapped in the soft, warm rug, wondering at her strange adventure.[Pg 18] She had penetrated149 that mysterious house on Black-fir Hill, and she had made the acquaintance of Lord Lostwithiel. How much she would have to tell Martin in her next letter! She wrote to him every week—a long, loving letter, closely written on thin paper, pouring out all her fancies and feelings to the husband she loved with all her heart.
She sighed as her thoughts recurred150 to the letter received to-day. Six months, or perhaps even a year, before he was to come back to her! Yet the letter had not been without hopefulness. He had the prospect151 of getting his next step before that year was over, and then his coming home would be a final return. He would be able to retire, and he would buy some land—a hundred acres or so—and breed horses—one of his youthful dreams—and do a little building, perhaps, to enlarge and beautify the Angler's Nest, and his Isola should have a pair of ponies152 and a good saddle-horse. He looked forward to a life of unalloyed happiness.
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1
desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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2
presages
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| v.预示，预兆( presage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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4
titanic
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| adj.巨人的，庞大的，强大的 | |
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5
hollies
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| n.冬青（常绿灌木，叶尖而硬，有光泽，冬季结红色浆果）( holly的名词复数 )；（用作圣诞节饰物的）冬青树枝 | |
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latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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8
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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10
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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11
straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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12
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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13
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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14
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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15
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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16
cosily
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| adv.舒适地，惬意地 | |
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gloss
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| n.光泽，光滑；虚饰；注释；vt.加光泽于；掩饰 | |
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18
holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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19
chalice
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| n.圣餐杯；金杯毒酒 | |
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20
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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21
impromptu
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| adj.即席的，即兴的；adv.即兴的(地)，无准备的(地) | |
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22
ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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23
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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24
hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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25
honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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26
wedlock
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| n.婚姻，已婚状态 | |
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27
cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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28
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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29
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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30
dawdled
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| v.混（时间）( dawdle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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32
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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33
radius
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| n.半径，半径范围；有效航程，范围，界限 | |
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34
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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35
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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36
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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37
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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38
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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39
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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40
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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41
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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42
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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43
scaly
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| adj.鱼鳞状的；干燥粗糙的 | |
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44
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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45
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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46
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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47
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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48
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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49
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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50
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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51
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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52
slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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53
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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54
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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55
beeches
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| n.山毛榉( beech的名词复数 )；山毛榉木材 | |
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56
laurels
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| n.桂冠，荣誉 | |
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57
yews
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| n.紫杉( yew的名词复数 ) | |
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58
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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59
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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60
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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61
longingly
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| adv. 渴望地 热望地 | |
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62
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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63
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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64
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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65
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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66
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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67
mosses
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| n. 藓类, 苔藓植物 名词moss的复数形式 | |
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68
fungi
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| n.真菌，霉菌 | |
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69
vistas
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| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
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70
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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71
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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72
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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73
apprehensively
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| adv.担心地 | |
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74
deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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75
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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76
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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77
plod
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| v.沉重缓慢地走，孜孜地工作 | |
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78
valiantly
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| adv.勇敢地，英勇地；雄赳赳 | |
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79
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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80
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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81
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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82
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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83
elongated
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| v.延长，加长( elongate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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84
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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85
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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86
pelting
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| 微不足道的，无价值的，盛怒的 | |
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87
urns
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| n.壶( urn的名词复数 )；瓮；缸；骨灰瓮 | |
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88
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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89
abates
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| 减少( abate的第三人称单数 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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90
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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91
lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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92
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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93
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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94
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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95
affiliated
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| adj. 附属的, 有关连的 | |
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96
intensify
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| vt.加强；变强；加剧 | |
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97
betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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99
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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100
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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101
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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102
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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103
coxcomb
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| n.花花公子 | |
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104
ransack
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| v.彻底搜索，洗劫 | |
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105
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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106
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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107
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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108
pervading
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
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109
monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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110
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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111
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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112
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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113
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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114
picturesquely
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115
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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116
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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117
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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detest
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| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
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scampering
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的现在分词 ) | |
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exuberant
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| adj.充满活力的；（植物）繁茂的 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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rambled
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的过去式和过去分词 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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metropolitan
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| adj.大城市的，大都会的 | |
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bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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gainsay
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| v.否认，反驳 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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recurred
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| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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