The Man with a Shadow

“May I clear away, sir?” said a sharp, clear voice.

North started as if he had been stung, but he did not uncover his face; and he dared not speak, lest words should gush forth for which he could not hold himself accountable – and to Mrs Milt!

Under the circumstances, he nodded his head quickly, and lay back with his eyes closed.

“You do too much, sir,” said the housekeeper, speaking authoritatively. “You work too hard.”

North’s irritability was terrible, but he kept it down.

“It’s my impression that you’re going to be ill,” continued Mrs Milt, as she went on clearing the table.

Strange words seemed to be effervescing in Horace North’s breast, and he set his teeth hard, for he felt that if he spoke he should say something which would horrify the old housekeeper and startle himself.

“Well, you can’t blame me,” cried Mrs Milt, going out and shutting the door too sharply to be polite.

North was alone, and he rose up with his hands clenched to utter words of wonder as to what his friend would think; but, instead, he burst into a curious fit of laughter and uttered a mocking curse.

The next moment he had sunk back upon his couch with his hands clasped, as he gazed with bent head straight before him between his thick brows, right away into the future, and mentally asking himself what that future was to be.

End of Volume Two

Volume Three – Chapter One.

An Unsuitable Messenger

“Hartley, you horrify me,” said Mary, after she had listened to her brother’s account of his visit. “He must have been ill or under some strange influence.”

“Influence?” cried Salis drily; “well, that means drink, Mary.”

“Oh, no, no, no!” cried the poor girl warmly. “He told you he was ill, and he may have been taking some very potent medicine.”

“Extremely,” said Salis.

“Hartley, for shame!” cried Mary, with her eyes flashing. “You left here an hour ago full of faith and trust in the friend of many years’ standing. You find him ill and peculiar in his manner, and you come back here ready to think all manner of evil of him. Is this just?”

“But he was so very strange and peculiar, my child. You cannot imagine how queer.”

“Hartley!” cried Mary warmly; “how can you! Horace North must be very ill, and needs his friend’s help. Your account of his acts and words suggests delirium. Go back to him at once.”

“Go back to him?”

“Yes; at once. Have you forgotten his goodness to us – how he snatched Leo back from the jaws of death?”

“You think I ought to go, Mary?” said Salis dubiously.

“I shall think my brother is under some strange influence – suffering from wounded pride – if he does not frankly go to our old friend’s help.”

“I’ll go back at once,” cried Salis excitedly. “Why, Mary, when you were active and strong, I always thought I had to teach and take care of you. Now you are an invalid, you seem to teach and guide me.”

“No, no,” said Mary tenderly. “It is only that I lie here for many hours alone, thinking of what is best for us all. Not yet, Hartley: I want to say something else.”

“Yes,” he said, going down on one knee by her couch, and holding her hand; “what is it?”

“I want to say a few words to you about Leo,” said Mary, after a pause.

“About Leo?” said Salis uneasily.

“Yes, dear. I tell you I lie here for many hours thinking about you both. I want to speak about Leo and – Mr North.”

“Yes,” said Salis gravely, as Leo’s manner when the servant came from the Hall flashed upon his mind. “What do you wish to say?”

“Do you consider that there is any engagement between them?”

“I hardly know what to say. North seemed deeply attached to her.”

“Yes,” said Mary; “but I have felt puzzled by his manner lately. He has not been.”

“And he has not sent her flowers as he used.”

“No; I have noticed that. Has Mr North felt that Leo has slighted him in any way.”

“Why, Mary,” cried Salis excitedly, “what a brain you have! My dear child, you have hit upon the cause of his strange manner. You noticed – you noticed Leo’s manner when the news came of Candlish’s illness – for I suppose I must call it so.”

“Yes,” said Mary, with a sigh. “I noticed it.”

“And North must have seen something. Mary, my girl, what shall I do?”

“What shall you do?”

“Yes; I am divided between my sister and my friend. There! I must speak out. It would be the saving of Leo if she could become North’s wife; and yet, much as I love her and wish for her happiness, I feel as if I am being unjust to North to let matters go farther.”

Mary lay back with her eyes half closed for some minutes before she felt that she could trust her voice so that it should not betray her.

“It would be for Leo’s happiness could she say truly that she could love and honour Horace North,” Mary whispered at last; “but it will never be, Hartley. Leo will never marry as we wish.”

“I’m afraid not,” said Salis sadly; “and the more I think of it, the more it seems to me that you have hit upon North’s trouble. Leo’s anxiety about that scoundrel has disgusted poor Horace. What shall I do?”

“Your friend is ill,” said Mary sadly; “act as a friend should. Leave the rest: we can do nothing there.”

“My poor darling!” said Salis, “you are the good angel of our little home. There, I’ll go to North at once.”

Meanwhile a conversation was going on in Leo’s room.

She had suffered intensely during the past few days, which had seemed to her like months of suspense and agony. Every stroke at the door had seemed to be a visitor to expose her to her brother, or else she believed it was North coming to reproach her; and, though she told herself that she would be defiant and could tell him he was mad ever to have thought about her, she shivered at each step upon the gravel.

The scene in the vestry had shaken her nerves terribly. The news of Tom Candlish’s serious injuries had added to her trouble; and, combined with this, there was the horrible suspense as to her lover’s state. In a way, she was a prisoner, and any attempt to hear news of the sufferer at the Hall would bring down upon her an angry reproof from her brother.

After the news of his state, Tom Candlish’s name was not mentioned at the Rectory. She dared not ask or show by word or look the anxiety she felt, and yet there were times when she would have given years of her life for a few words of tidings.