CHAPTER IV.
No new revelations came back with them: no anticipations associated with
their return were realized. On the one forbidden subject of their errand
in London, there was no moving either the master or the mistress of the
house. Whatever their object might have been, they had to all appearance
successfully accomplished it—for they both returned in perfect
possession of their every-day looks and manners. Mrs. Vanstone's spirits
had subsided to their natural quiet level; Mr. Vanstone's imperturbable
cheerfulness sat as easily and indolently on him as usual. This was
the one noticeable result of their journey—this, and no more. Had the
household revolution run its course already? Was the secret thus far
hidden impenetrably, hidden forever?
Nothing in this world is hidden forever. The gold which has lain for
centuries unsuspected in the ground, reveals itself one day on the
surface. Sand turns traitor, and betrays the footstep that has passed
over it; water gives back to the tell-tale surface the body that has
been drowned. Fire itself leaves the confession, in ashes, of the
substance consumed in it. Hate breaks its prison-secrecy in the
thoughts, through the doorway of the eyes; and Love finds the Judas
who betrays it by a kiss. Look where we will, the inevitable law of
revelation is one of the laws of nature: the lasting preservation of a
secret is a miracle which the world has never yet seen.
How was the secret now hidden in the household at Combe-Raven doomed
to disclose itself? Through what coming event in the daily lives of
the father, the mother, and the daughters, was the law of revelation
destined to break the fatal way to discovery? The way opened (unseen by
the parents, and unsuspected by the children) through the first event
that happened after Mr. and Mrs. Vanstone's return—an event which
presented, on the surface of it, no interest of greater importance than
the trivial social ceremony of a morning call.
Three days after the master and mistress of Combe-Raven had come back, the female members of the family happened to be assembled together in the morning-room. The view from the windows looked over the flower-garden and shrubbery; this last being protected at its outward extremity by a fence, and approached from the lane beyond by a wicket-gate. During an interval in the conversation, the attention of the ladies was suddenly attracted to this gate, by the sharp sound of the iron latch falling in its socket. Some one had entered the shrubbery from the lane; and Magdalen at once placed herself at the window to catch the first sight of the visitor through the trees.
After a few minutes, the figure of a gentleman became visible, at the
point where the shrubbery path joined the winding garden-walk which led
to the house. Magdalen looked at him attentively, without appearing, at
first, to know who he was. As he came nearer, however, she started in
astonishment; and, turning quickly to her mother and sister, proclaimed
the gentleman in the garden to be no other than "Mr. Francis Clare."
The visitor thus announced was the son of Mr. Vanstone's oldest
associate and nearest neighbor.