"The disease, or the ending, do you mean?" Thomas asked, with a smile.

"Both. But I spoke more particularly of the disease. That in itself is a lingering death, and nothing less."

"A lingering death is the most favoured death--as I regard it: a sudden death the most unhappy. See what time is given me to 'set my house in order,'" he added, the sober, pleasant smile deepening. "I must not fail to do it well, must I?"

"And the pain, Thomas; that will be lingering, too."

"I must bear it."

He rose as he spoke, and put his arm within his brother's. George seemed to him then the same powerful protector that he, Thomas, must have seemed to Sir George in that midnight walk at Broomhead. He stood a minute or two, as if gathering strength, and then walked forward, leaning heavily on George. It was the pain, the excessive agony that so unnerved him: a little while, and he would seem in the possession of his usual strength again.

"Ay, George, it will soon be yours. I shall not long keep you out of Ashlydyat. I cannot quite tell how you will manage alone at the Bank when I am gone," he continued, in a more business tone. "I think of it a great deal. Sometimes I fancy it might be better if you took a staid, sober partner; one middle aged. A thorough man of business. Great confidence has been accorded me, you know, George. I suppose people like my steady habits."

"They like you for your integrity," returned George, the words seeming to break from him impulsively. "I shall manage very well, I dare say, when the time comes. I suppose I must settle down to steadiness also; to be more as you have been. I can," he continued, as if in soliloquy. "I can, and I will."

"And, George, you will be a good master," continued Thomas. "Be a kind, considerate master to all who shall then be dependent on you. I have tried to be so: and, now that the end has come, it is, I a.s.sure you, a pleasant consciousness to possess--to look back upon. I have a few, very few, poor pensioners who may have been a little the better for me: those I shall take care of, and Janet will sometimes see them. But some of the servants lapse to you with Ashlydyat: I speak of them. Make them comfortable. Most of them are already in years: take care of them when they shall be too old to work."

"Oh, I'll do that," said George. "I expect Janet----"

George's words died away. They had rounded the ash-trees, and were fronting the Dark Plain. White enough looked the plain that night; but dark was the Shadow on it. Yes, it was there! The dark, portentous, terrific Shadow of Ashlydyat!

They stood still. Perhaps their hearts stood still. Who can know? A man would rather confess to an unholy deed, than acknowledge his belief in a ghostly superst.i.tion.

"How dark it is to-night!" broke from George.

In truth, it had never been darker, never more intensely distinct. If, as the popular belief went, the evil to overtake the G.o.dolphins was foreshadowed to be greater or less, according to the darker or lighter hue of the Shadow, then never did such ill fall on the G.o.dolphins, as was to fall now.

"It is black, not dark," replied Thomas, in answer to George's remark.

"I never saw it so black as it is now. Last night it was comparatively light."

George turned his gaze quickly upwards to the moon, searching in the aspect of that luminary a solution to the darker shade of to-night.

"There's no difference!" he cried aloud. "The moon was as bright as this, last night, but not brighter. I don't think it could be brighter.

You say the Shadow was there last night, Thomas?"

"Yes. But not so dark as now."

"But, Thomas! you were ill last night; you could not see it."

"I came as far as the turnstile here with Lord Averil. He called at Ashlydyat after leaving Lady G.o.dolphin's Folly. I was better then, and strolled out of the house with him."

"Did he see the Shadow?"

"I don't know. It was there; but not very distinct. He did not appear to see it. We were pa.s.sing quickly, and talking about my illness."

"Did you give Averil any hint of what your illness may be?" asked George hastily.

"Not an indication of it. Janet, Snow, and you, are my only confidants as yet. Bexley is partially so. Were that Shadow to be seen by Prior's Ash, and the fact of my illness transpired, people would say that it was a forewarning of my end," he continued, with a grave smile, as he and George turned to pursue their road to Ashlydyat.

They reached the porch in silence. George shook hands with his brother.

"Don't attempt to come to business to-morrow," he said. "I will come up in the evening, and see you."

"Won't you come in now, George?"

"Not now. Good night, Thomas. I heartily wish you better."

George turned and retraced his steps, past the ash-trees, past the Dark Plain. Intensely black the Shadow certainly looked: darker even than when he had pa.s.sed it just before--at least so it appeared to George's eyes. He halted a moment, quite struck with the sombre hue. "Thomas said it appeared light last night," he half muttered: "and for _him_ death cannot be much of an evil. Superst.i.tious Janet, daft Margery, would both say that the evil affects me: that I am to bring it!" he added, with a smile of mockery at the words. "Angry enough it certainly looks!"

It did look angry. But George vouchsafed it no further attention. He had too much on his mind to give heed to shadows, even though it were the ominous Shadow of Ashlydyat. George, as he had said to Charlotte Pain, was very nearly at his wits' end. One of his minor perplexities was, how he should get to London. He had urgent necessity for proceeding in search of Mr. Verrall, and equally urgent was it that the expedition should be kept from Thomas G.o.dolphin. What excuse could he invent for his absence?

Rapidly arranging his plans, he proceeded again to the Bell Inn, held a few minutes' confidential conversation with Captain St. Aubyn, waking that gentleman out of his first sleep for it--not that he by any means enlightened _him_ as to any trouble that might be running riot in his brain--and then went home. Maria came forward to meet him.

"How is poor Captain St. Aubyn, George? Very ill?"

"Very. How did you know anything about it, Maria?"

"Thomas told me you had been sent for. Thomas came to my sitting-room before he left, after the rest had gone. You have stayed a good while with him."

"Ay. What should you say if I were to go back and stop the night with him?" asked George, half jokingly.

"Is he so ill as that?"

"And also to accompany him a stage or two on his journey to-morrow morning? He starts at six, and is about as fit to travel as an invalid just out of bed after a month's illness."

"Do you really mean that you are going to do all that, George?" she inquired, in surprise.

George nodded. "I do not fancy Thomas will be here to-morrow, Maria. Ask to speak to Isaac when he comes in the morning. Tell him that I shall be home some time in the afternoon, but I have gone out of town a few miles with a sick friend. He can say so if I am particularly inquired for."

George went to his room. Maria followed him. He was changing his coat and waistcoat, and threw an overcoat upon his arm. Then he looked at his watch.

"What is the time?" asked Maria.

"Twenty minutes past eleven. Good night, my darling."

She fondly held his face down to hers while he kissed her, giving him--as George had once saucily told her she would--kiss for kiss. There was no shame in it now; only love. "Oh, George, my dearest, mind you come back safe and well to me!" she murmured, tears filling her eyes.

"Don't I always come back safe and well to you, you foolish child? Take care of yourself, Maria."

Maria's hand rested lingeringly in his. Could she have divined that Mr.

George's tender adieux sometimes strayed elsewhere!--that his confidences were given, but not to her! George went out, and the hall door closed upon him.

It was well Maria did not watch him away! Well for her astonishment.

Instead of going to the Bell Inn, he turned short round to the left, and took the by-way which led to the railway station, gaining it in time to catch the express train, which pa.s.sed through Prior's Ash at midnight for London.

CHAPTER VI.