looking about her and delaying, she went on. There was nothing stately about this house; but there was that about it which, if Alice had been in less cheerful and happy spirits, would have quelled and awed her. Thick walls, windows deep sunk, double doors now and then, wainscoting, and oak floors, warped with age.
On the landing there was an archway admitting to a gallery. In this archway was no door, and, on the landing, Alice Fairfield, as I may now call her, stood for a moment and looked round.
Happy as she was, I cannot tell what effect these faintly lighted glimpses of old and desolate rooms, aided by the repulsive companionship of her ancient guide, may have insensibly wrought upon her imagination, or what a trick that faculty may have just then played upon her senses, but turning round to enter the gallery under the open arch, the old woman standing by her, with the candle raised a little, Alice Fairfield stepped back, startled, with a little exclamation of surprise.
The ugly face of old Mildred Tarnley peeped curiously over the young lady's shoulder. She stepped before her, and peered, right and left, into the gallery; and then, with ominous inquiry into the young lady's eyes, "I thought it might be a bat, my lady; there was one last night got in," she said; "but there's no such a thing now -- was you afeard of anything, my lady?"
"I -- didn't you see it?" said the young lady, both frightened and disconcerted.
"I saw'd nothing, ma'am."
"It's very odd. I did see it; I swear I saw it, and felt the air all stirred about my face and dress by it."
"On here, miss -- my lady; was it?"
"Yes; here, before us. I -- weren't you looking?"
"Not that way, miss -- I don't know," she said.
"Well, something fell down before us -- all the way -- from the top to the bottom of this place."
And with a slight movement of her hand and eyes, she indicated the open archway before which they stood.
"Oh, lawk! Well, I dare to say it may a bin a fancy, just."
"Yes; but it's very odd -- a great heavy curtain of black fell down in folds from the top to the floor just as I was going to step through. It seemed to make a little cloud of dust about our feet; and I felt a wind from it quite distinctly."
"Hey, then it was a black curtain, I suppose," said the old woman, looking hard at her.
"Yes -- but why do you suppose so?"
"Sich nonsense is always black, ye know. I see'd nothing -- nothing -- no more there was nothing. Didn't ye see me walk through?"
And she stepped back and forward, candle in hand, with an uncomfortable laugh.
"Oh, I know perfectly well there is nothing; but I saw it. I -- I wish I hadn't," said the young lady.
"I wish ye hadn't, too," said Mildred Tarnley, pale and lowering. "Them as says their prayers, they needn't be afeard 'o sich things; and, for my part, I never see'd anything in the Grange, and I'm an old woman, and lived here girl, and woman, good sixty years and more."
"Let us go on, please," said Alice.
"At your service, my lady," said the crone, with a courtesy, and conducted her to her room.
Chapter XIII.
An Inspection of Carwell Grange
Through an open door, at the end of this short gallery, the pleasant firelight gleamed, sufficiently indicating the room that had been prepared for her reception. She felt a little oddly and frightened, and the sight of old Dulcibella Crane in the cheerful light, busily unpacking her boxes, reassured her.
The grim old woman, Mildred Tarnley, stopped at the door.
"It's very well aired, ma'am," she said, making a little courtesy.
"It looks very comfortable; thank you -- everything so neat; and such a bright nice fire," said Alice, smiling on her as well as she could.
"There's the tapestry room, and the leather room; but they're not so dry as this, though it's wainscot."
"Oak, I think -- isn't it?" said the young lady, looking round.
"Yes, ma'am; and there's the pink paper chamber and dressing room; but they're gone very poor -- and the bed and all that being in here, I thought 'twas the best 'o the lot; an' there's lots o' presses and cupboards in the wall, and the keys in them, and the locks all right; and I do think it's the most comfortablest room, my lady. That is the dressing-room in there, please; and do you like some more wood or coal on the fire, ma'am?"
"Not any; it is very nice -- thanks."
And Alice sat down before the fire, and the smile seemed to evaporate in its glow, and she looked very grave -- and even anxious. Mildred Tarnley made her courtesy, looked round the room, and withdrew.
"Well, Dulcibella, when are you going to have your tea?" asked Alice, kindly.
"I'll make a cup here, dear, if you think I may, after I've got your things in their places, in a few minutes' time."
"Would you like that better than taking it downstairs with the servant?"
"Yes, dear, I would."
"I don't think you like her, Dulcibella?"
"I can't say I mislike her, dear; I han't spoke ten words wi' her -- she may be very nice -- I don't know."
"There's something not very pleasant about her face, don't you think?" said Alice.
"Well, dear, but you are sharp; there's no hiding my thoughts from you; but there's many a face we gets used to that doesn't seem so agreeable-like at first. I think this rack'll do very nice for hanging your cloak on," she said, taking it from the young lady's hands. "You're tired a bit, I'm afeard; ye look a bit tired -- ye do."
"No, nothing," said her young mistress, "only I can't help feeling sorry for poor old Wyvern and the Squire, old Mr. Fairfield -- it seems so unkind; and there was a good deal to think about; and, I don't know how, I feel a little uncomfortable, in spite of so much that should cheer me; and now I must run down and take a cup of tea -- come with me to the top of the stairs, and just hold the candle till I have got down."
When she reached the head of the stairs she was cheered by the sound of Charles Fairfield's voice, singing, in his exuberant jollity, the appropriate ditty, "Jenny, put the kettle on, -- Barney, blow the bellows strong," &c.
And, hurrying downstairs, she found him ready to make tea, with his hand on the handle of the tea-pot, and the fire brighter than ever.
"Well, you didn't stay very long, good little woman. I was keeping up my spirits with a song; and, in spite of my music, beginning to miss you."
And, meeting her as she entered the room, he led her, with his arm about her waist, to a chair, in which, with a kiss, he placed her.
"All
