Part 131 (2/2)

”Don't go, mamma! Don't go away from papa and Meta! I shall be afraid of the elephants without you.”

She pressed the child closer and closer to her beating heart. Oh the pain, the pain!--the pain of the parting that was so soon to come!

They were interrupted by a noise at the gate. A carriage had bowled down the lane and drawn up at it, almost with the commotion that used to attend the das.h.i.+ng visits to the Bank of Mrs. Charlotte Pain. A more sober equipage this, however, with its mourning appointments, although it bore a coronet on its panels. The footman opened the door, and one lady stepped out of it.

”It is Aunt Cecil,” called out Meta.

She rubbed the tears from her pretty cheeks, her grief forgotten, child-like, in the new excitement, and flew out to meet Lady Averil.

Maria, trying to look her best, rose from the sofa and tottered forward to receive her. Meta was pounced upon by Margery and carried off to have her tumbled hair smoothed; and Lady Averil came in alone.

She threw back her c.r.a.pe veil to kiss Maria. She had come down from Ashlydyat on purpose to tell her the news of the bones being found: there could be little doubt that they were those of the ill-fated Richard de Commins, which had been so fruitlessly searched for: and Lady Averil was full of excitement. Perhaps it was natural that she should be so, being a G.o.dolphin.

”It is most strange that they should be found just now,” she cried; ”at the very time that the Dark Plain is being done away with. You know, Maria, the tradition always ran that so long as the bones remained unfound, the Dark Plain would retain the appearance of a graveyard. Is it not a singular coincidence--that they should be discovered just at the moment that the Plain is being dug up? Were Janet here, she would say how startlingly all the old superst.i.tion is being worked out.”

”I think one thing especially strange--that they should not have been found before,” observed Maria. ”Have they not been searched for often?”

”I believe so,” replied Cecil. ”But they were found under the archway; immediately beneath it: and I fancy they had always been searched for in the Dark Plain. When papa had the gorse-bushes rooted up they were looked for then in all parts of the Dark Plain, but not under the archway.”

”How came Lord Averil to think of looking under the archway?” asked Maria.

”He did not think of it. They have been found unexpectedly, without being searched for. The archway is taken down, and the men were digging the foundation for the new summer-house, when they came upon them. The grounds of Ashlydyat have been like a fair all the afternoon with people coming up to see and hear,” added Cecil. ”Lord Averil is going to consult Mr. Hastings about giving them Christian burial.”

”It does seem strange,” murmured Maria. ”Have you written to tell Janet?”

”No, I shall write to her to-morrow. I hastened down to you. Bessy came over from the Folly, but Lady G.o.dolphin would not come. She said she had heard enough in her life of the superst.i.tion of Ashlydyat. She never liked it, you know, Maria; never believed in it.”

”Yes, I know,” Maria answered. ”It used to anger her when it was spoken of. As it angered papa.”

”As George used to pretend that it angered him. I think it was only pretence, though. Poor Thomas, never. If he did not openly accord it belief, he never ridiculed it. How are your preparations getting on Maria?”

Maria was crossing the room with feeble steps to stir the fire into a blaze. As the light burst forth, she turned her face to Lady Averil with a sort of apology.

”I do not know what Margery is about that she does not bring in the lamp. I am receiving you very badly, Cecil.”

Cecil smiled. ”I think our topic, the Ashlydyat superst.i.tion, is better discussed in such light as this, than in the full glare of lamp-light.”

But as Lady Averil spoke she was looking earnestly at Maria. The blaze had lighted up her wan face, and Cecil was struck aghast at its aspect.

_Was_ it real?--or was it only the effect of the firelight? Lady Averil had not heard of the ominous fears that were ripening, and hoped it was the latter.

”Maria! are you looking worse this evening? Or is the light deceiving me?”

”I dare say I am looking worse. I am worse. I am very ill, Cecil.”

”You do not look fit to embark on this voyage.”

Maria simply shook her head. She was sitting now in an old-fas.h.i.+oned arm-chair, one white hand lying on her black dress, the other supporting her chin, while the firelight played on her wasted features.

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