The Man with a Shadow

“Hard!” said the curate sadly.

“Well, I know I’m behaving like a lunatic. I’m going away to study hard, and work myself back into a state of sanity – if I can.”

He nodded and left the house; and, as the door closed, Mary closed her eyes as the sank back helplessly in her place.

“Asleep, dear?” said Hartley tenderly, a few minutes later, and he had risen from where he sat, with a dejected look upon his face.

“No, Hartley; only thinking,” she said, smiling sweetly in his face.

“Thinking?”

“Of Leo.”

“And so was I,” he said sadly.

But Leo Salis was not thinking of brother or sister. She was writing rapidly, with a blotting-book held half open, and the book she had been reading held in the same hand, so that she could close the blotter instantly and seem to be reading if any one came.

Leo’s lips formed the words she wrote: —

“It is ridiculous of you to have such jealous thoughts. He has tended me patiently as any other doctor would. I will tell you more to-morrow night, but to-day I tell you this: I think him very clever as a doctor; as an ordinary being I think him an idiot. At the old time as nearly as I can. Do be punctual this time, pray.”

It was about five o’clock the next morning that, after sitting up reading hard, and trying to recover lost time, till half-past three, North was plunged in a deep sleep, in which he dreamed that Leo was smiling in his eyes, and repeating the words she had uttered in her delirium, when there was a heavy dragging at the night-bell.

“What is it?” cried the doctor from his window.

“My young master, sir,” cried the voice of the butler from the Hall.

“Taken ill?”

“Ill, sir? Oh, Heaven help us! it’s worse than that!”

Chapter Twenty Three.

Tom Candlish Plays Badly

Squire Luke Candlish looked flushed and angry, as he stood facing his brother in the billiard-room, over the dining-room, at the Hall. Dinner had been ended an hour, and in company with his brother he had partaken of enough wine for three ordinary men, after which they had gone upstairs to smoke and play two or three games.

Tom Candlish played horribly that night. The strokes he made were vile; and so transparent were some of his blunders that any one but Squire Luke would have seen and asked what it meant.

Squire Luke only chuckled and smoked, and spilled the cigar-ash over the green cloth and played; but played more vilely than his brother, with the result that, in spite of all his efforts, Tom won game after game.

It was very awkward, for Tom had a request to make, and unless he could get his brother in a good temper, the request would certainly be in vain.

He made misses and his brother scored one each time. Then went straight into the pocket without touching a ball; and his opponent scored three; but directly afterwards, when his turn came round, the balls seemed as if they would make cannons and winning and losing hazards, so that his score kept rising, and Squire Luke raved.

Tom won every game, and his brother grew more silent, till quite in despair at the failure of his plan to put the squire in a good temper, Tom blurted out his business. He wanted a hundred pounds.

“I should think you do want a hundred pounds!” said the squire coolly; “say two.”

“Two!” cried Tom merrily.

“Twopence!” cried his brother, driving his ball off the table with a tremendous clatter. “What for?”

“Meet a couple of bills,” said Tom, picking up the ball. “No! Your play again.”

“No business to accept them.”

“Couldn’t help it, old fellow. Come, let’s have a hundred.”

“Not a stiver.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve had your allowance for the year, and fifty over.”

“Nonsense, old man; I’m hard pushed, and if I don’t meet the bills, they’ll be dishonoured.”

“Well, what of that?” said Squire Luke coolly, as he made a stroke.

“What of it! eh? Why, the glorious name of Candlish will be dragged in the mire.”

“Bah!” ejaculated the squire, playing again.

“Why, Luke, that stroke was not emblematic, was it, of your turning into a screw?”

“None of your hints. I put on no screw, and I am no screw. You have your five hundred a year to spend, and I keep you besides.”

“Oh, yes: and keep me well; but a man can’t always keep just inside a certain line.”

“You always keep outside a certain line,” retorted the squire. “You have your five hundred regularly.”

“And you have your five thousand regularly,” said Tom, who was beginning to flush up.

“Well, what of that?”

“Why, it isn’t fair that you should have all this big place and a large income, and I nearly nothing.”

“That’s right,” said the squire; “abuse your father.”

“I don’t abuse my father!” retorted Tom hotly; “but I say it was an infernal shame!”

“He knew what a blackguard you are, Tommy. Ah! that’s a good stroke: six!”

“Blackguard, eh? Come, I like that. Because I am open and above-board, and you are about the most underhanded ruffian that ever lived, I’m a blackguard, and you are only Squire Luke. Why, you sneaking – ”

“Don’t call names, Tom,” said the squire, laughing huskily, with his heavy face bloated and red from the wine he had taken. “Little boy, younger brother, if you are rude I may use the stick in the shape of a billiard cue.”

“I only wish you would,” said Tom, grinding his teeth as he played, striking the balls viciously, and scoring now every time.