The appearance of the individual who admitted them into what may be called the prison of Mr. Edermont was sufficiently odd to merit a description. Lambert Joad, the friend, factotum, and parasite of Dora's guardian, was a short, stout man verging on sixty years. He had a large bland face, clean-shaven, and bluish-red in hue; his mouth was loose, his chin double, his jowl pendulous; and his insignificant nose was scarcely redeemed by two watery eyes of a pale blue. A few tufts of white hair covered sparsely the baldness of his skull; and his ears, hands, and feet were all large and ill-shaped. He dressed in rusty black, wore carpet slippers, and a wisp of white ribbon did duty as a collar. This last adornment hinted at a clerical vocation, and hinted rightly, for Lambert Joad was an unsuccessful parson of the Anglican Church.
Some forty years previously he had been a college friend of Edermont's, and in due course had taken orders, but either from lack of brains, or of eloquence, or perhaps from his Quilpish looks, he had failed to gain as much as a curacy. In lieu thereof he had earned a bare subsistence by making notes in the British Museum for various employers, and it was while thus engaged that Edermont had chanced upon him again; out of sheer pity the owner of the Red House had taken the unlucky Joad to Kent, and there permitted him to potter about library and garden--a vegetable existence which completely satisfied the unambitious brain of the creature. He was devoted to the god who had given him this ease.
But the odd part of the arrangement was that Edermont would not permit his hanger-on to remain in the house at night. Punctually at nine Mr. Joad betook himself to the small cottage fronting the gates, and there ate and slept until nine the next morning, when he presented himself again in the library, to read, and dust, and arrange, and catalogue the many books. For twenty years this contract had been faithfully carried out by the pair of college friends. From nine to nine daylight Joad haunted the house; from nine to nine darkness he remained in his tumbledown cottage.
Being now on duty, he admitted Dora and her lover, and after closing the gates, stood staring at them; with a book hugged to his breast, and a cunning look in his eyes. His swollen and red nose suggested snuff; his trembling hands and bloodshot eyes, drink; so that on the whole he was by no means a pleasant spectacle to behold. Dora threw a look of disgust on this disreputable, dirty Silenus, whom she particularly disliked, and addressed him sharply, according to custom.
"Where is Mr. Edermont?" said she, stepping back from his immediate neighbourhood; "I have brought Dr. Scott to see him."
"Julian is still in his bedroom," replied this Silenus in a voice of surprising beauty and volume; "but he does not wish to see anyone, least of all a doctor."
"Oh, never mind that, Mr. Joad," said Allen good-humouredly. "I come as a friend to inquire after the health of Mr. Edermont."
"I quite understand," grunted the other; "you will make medical suggestions in the guise of friendly remarks. So like your father, that is."
"My father, Mr. Joad? Did you know him?" asked Scott, considerably astonished.
"Yes; I do not think," added Joad, with a spice of maliciousness, "that you had that advantage."
"He died when I was five years old," replied Allen sadly, "so I remember him very slightly. But it is strange that I should have known you all these months without becoming aware of the fact that you were acquainted with my father."
"All this is beside the point," broke in Dora severely. "I want you to see Mr. Edermont. Afterwards you can talk to Mr. Joad."
"I shall be glad to do so. There are many things I wish to know about my father."
"Then, why ask me, Dr. Scott, when Julian is at hand?"
"Mr. Edermont refuses to answer my inquiries."
"In that case," said Joad, with great deliberation, "I should ask Lady Burville."
The young man was so startled by this speech that for the moment he could say nothing. By the time he had recovered his tongue Joad was already halfway across the lawn. Scott would have followed him, but that Dora laid a detaining hand upon his arm.
"Later on, Allen," she said firmly; "in the meantime, see my guardian."
"But, Dora, Lady Burville's name again hints----"
"It hints at all manner of strange things, Allen. I know that as well as you do. I tell you what, my dear: the coming of this woman is about to cause a change in our lives."
"Dora! On what grounds do you base such a supposition?"
"On the grounds that you know," she returned distinctly. "I can give you no others. But I have a belief, a premonition--call it what you will--that Lady Burville's coming is the herald of change. If you would know more, ask Mr. Edermont who she is, and why he fainted at the sight of her."
By this time they were standing on the steps of the porch, whence the wings of mellow red brick spread to right and left, facing the sunlit lawn. Square-framed windows extended along this front above and below, and an upper one of these over the porch was wide open. As Allen and Dora stood by the steps, a wild white face peered out and saw them in the sunlight. Had they looked up they would have seen Mr. Edermont, and have refrained from further conversation. But Fate so willed it that they talked on, unconscious of a listener. It was Allen who reopened the subject of his new patient, who had been referred to both by Edermont and Joad in so mysterious a way.
"After all," said Allen meditatively, "I do not see why you should have a premonition of change. That Lady Burville should know Mr. Edermont is nothing to you."
"Quite so; but that Lady Burville should know something about your late father is something to you. Did she mention anything about it this morning?"
"Not a word," he replied; "it was strange that she should not have done so."
"Not stranger than that you should have been called in to attend her."
"That was purely an accident."
"I don't think so," said Dora deliberately; "at least, not in the face of Mr. Joad's remark."
Dr. Scott looked puzzled.
"What do you make out of this Lady Burville?" he asked.
Before Dora could answer the question, a voice spoke to them from above.
"Do not talk any more of that woman," cried Mr. Edermont with a tremor in his tones. "Come upstairs, Allen; I have something for your private ear."
And then they heard the window hastily closed, as though Mr. Edermont were determined that the forthcoming conversation should be as private as possible.
"Go up at once, Allen," whispered Dora, pushing him towards the door. "You speak to my guardian, and I shall question Mr. Joad about Lady Burville. Mind, you must tell me all that Mr. Edermont says to you."
"There may not be anything to tell," said Allen doubtfully.
Dora looked at him seriously.
"I am sure that what is told will change your life and mine," she said.
"Dora! you know something?"
"Allen, I know nothing; I am going simply by my premonition."
"I am not superstitious,"
