Part 40 (1/2)
A DAY OF GLOOM.
All that day, or what remained of it after his father's departure, and the almost simultaneous withdrawal of the private detective, Frank Lamotte pa.s.sed in an uneasy reverie. He had much at stake; and, now that the crisis of his fortunes was so near at hand, he began to review his ground, and every word, look, and tone of Constance Wardour, as he recalled them, one by one, was to him a fresh puzzle.
Six months ago, Frank Lamotte would have scoffed at the suggestion of a refusal even from the proud Constance. Now, somehow, he had lost his self-confidence. Again and again he imagined the words that he would say, and the words he hoped, that she would answer. Then, as he forced himself to face the possibility of defeat, the veins upon his temples swelled out, his teeth clenched, and one of those ”attacks,” to which he was subject, and against which Doctor Heath had warned him, seemed imminent. Again and again he gazed, with proud satisfaction, upon his reflected image, in the full length drawing-room mirror, and turned away, vowing himself a fitting mate for any woman. Again and again, when the image of his own physical perfections had ceased to dazzle his vision, his heart sank within him, and a dismal foreboding put his courage to flight.
”Confound it all,” muttered he, as he wandered aimlessly from one deserted room to another: ”the very house seems under a spell. Sybil, sitting like a recluse in her own rooms, growing pale, and wild-eyed, and spectre-like, every day. Evan, in _his_ room, sick with drink, and verging on the D. T. Mother, gliding like a stately ghost from the one to the other, or closeted in her own room; she has not been down stairs to-day. Burrill, the devil knows where _he_ is, and what took him out so unusually early this morning. He's been cutting it worse than ever for the past week; the fellow, seemingly, can't find company low enough for him, in one stage of his drunkenness, nor high enough for him in another. It's fortunate for us that liquor has at last relaxed his vigilance; the old man has taken a leading trick by the means. Curse the brute! Why won't he die in a drunken frenzy, or from overfeeding, but he won't!” Thus soliloquizing, he lighted a segar and went out into the grounds. ”I'll try the effect of a little suns.h.i.+ne,” he muttered; ”for the house feels like a sarcophagus; one would think the family pride was about to receive its last blow, and the family doom about to fall.”
So, restless and self-tormented, Frank Lamotte pa.s.sed the long afternoon, in the double solitude of a man deserted, alike by his friends and his peace of mind.
”We make our own ghosts,” said somebody once.
Frank Lamotte's phantoms had begun to manifest themselves, having grown into things of strength, and become endowed with the power to torture; thanks to the atmosphere into which he had plunged himself and them.
Late in the afternoon, John Burrill came home, but Frank avoided him, not caring to answer any questions at that time.
Burrill seemed to care little for this, or for anything; he was in a wonderfully jubilant mood. He rambled through the tenantless rooms, whistling shrilly, and with his hands in his pockets. He commanded the servants like a Baron of old. He drank wine in the library, and smoked a segar in the drawing room, and when these pleasures palled upon him, he ascended the stairs, and went straight to the room occupied by Evan.
For some time past, Jasper Lamotte had made an effort to break the bond of good fellows.h.i.+p, that, much to the surprise of all the family, had sprung up between the wild young fellow, and the coa.r.s.er and equally or worse besotted elder one. How even reckless Evan Lamotte could find pleasure in such society, was a mystery to all who knew the two. But so it was, and Jasper Lamotte's interdict was not strong enough to sever the intimacy. John Burrill responded to his exhortations with a burst of defiance, or a volley of oaths; and, Evan received all comments upon his choice of a companion, with a sardonic smile, or a wild mocking laugh.
They had not been much together for the past few days, owing to the indisposition which had kept Evan away from their favorite haunts, but had not kept him away from his favorite beverage.
As Burrill entered his room, Evan received him with a shout of welcome, and for more than an hour they were closeted there, some times conversing in low, guarded tones, and sometimes bursting into roars of laughter, that penetrated even through the shut doors of Sybil's rooms, causing her to start nervously, and s.h.i.+ver as with a chill.
A little before sunset the carriage from Wardour deposited Constance and Mrs. Aliston at the door of this home of little harmony, and even Constance noted the unusual stillness, and whispered to her aunt, as they waited in the drawing room the appearance of Mrs. Lamotte:
”Bah! I sniff the ogre here, auntie. 'The trail of the serpent' is over the entire house.”
”I sniff the dead odor of a vile segar,” retorted Mrs. Aliston. ”As for the ogre--if he won't appear in person, I'll try and survive the rest.”
”I am very glad you have come, Constance,” said Mrs. Lamotte, entering at this moment. ”We are so dull here, and Sybil has wished much to see you.” And then she extended a courteous but more stately greeting to Mrs. Aliston.
”It grieves me to hear that Sybil is not so well, dear Mrs. Lamotte.
Does she employ a physician?” asked Constance, presently.
”She will not have a physician called, much to my regret. The very suggestion makes her wildly nervous.”
”And--she keeps her room too much. I think Frank told me.”
”Yes, recently. But, Constance, go up to her; Mrs. Aliston and I will entertain each other for awhile, and then we will join you. Sybil heard you announced, and will expect you.”
Thus commanded, Constance lost no time in making her way, unattended, to Sybil's room.
In the upper hall she met Frank, who started, and flushed at sight of her, and then hurried forward, with extended hand.
”Constance,” he exclaimed, eagerly, ”how glad I am to see you.”
”I'm such an uncommon sight!” she laughed, too much absorbed with thoughts of Sybil, to notice the extra warmth of his greeting, or a certain change of manner, that was a mingling of boldness, bashfulness, humility and c.o.xcombery.
”How do you do, Frank?”