RACHEL LAKE BEFORE THE ACCUSER.
Twilight was darker in Redman's Dell than anywhere else. But dark as it
was, there was still light enough to enable Rachel, as she hurried across
the little garden, on her return from Brandon, to see a long white face, and some dim outline of the figure to which it belonged, looking out upon her from the window of her little drawing-room.
But no, it could not be; who was there to call at so odd an hour? She
must have left something—a bag, or a white basket upon the window-sash. She was almost startled, however, as she approached the porch, to see it nod, and a hand dimly waved in token of greeting.
Tamar was in the kitchen. Could it be Stanley! But faint as the outline
was she saw, she fancied that it was a taller person than he. She felt a
sort of alarm, in which there was some little mixture of the
superstitious, and she pushed open the door, not entering the room, but
staring in toward the window, where against the dim, external light, she
clearly saw, without recognising it, a tall figure, greeting her with mop
and moe.
'Who is that?' cried Miss Lake, a little sharply.
'It is I, Miss Lake, Mr. Josiah Larkin, of the Lodge,' said that
gentleman, with what he meant to be an air of dignified firmness, and
looking very like a tall constable in possession; 'I have taken the
liberty of presenting myself, although, I fear, at a somewhat
unseasonable hour, but in reference to a little business, which, unfortunately, will not, I think, bear to be deferred.'
'No bad news, Mr. Larkin, I hope—nothing has happened. The Wylders are
all well, I hope?'
'Quite well, so far as I am aware,' answered the attorney, with a grim
politeness; 'perfectly. Nothing has occurred, as yet at least, affecting
the interests of that family; but something is—I will not say
threatened—but I may say mooted, which, were any attempt seriously made
to carry it into execution, would, I regret to say, involve very serious
consequences to a party whom for, I may say, many reasons, I should
regret being called upon to affect unpleasantly.'
'And pray, Mr. Larkin, can I be of any use?'
'Every use, Miss Lake, and it is precisely for that reason that I have
taken the liberty of waiting upon you, at what, I am well aware, is a
somewhat unusual hour.'
'Perhaps, Mr. Larkin, you would be so good as to call in the morning—any
hour you appoint will answer me,' said the young lady, a little stiffly. She was still standing at the door, with her hand upon the brass handle.
'Pardon me, Miss Lake, the business to which I refer is really urgent.'
'Very urgent, Sir, if it cannot wait till to-morrow morning.'
'Very true, quite true, very urgent indeed,' replied the attorney, calmly; 'I presume, Miss Lake, I may take a chair?'
'Certainly, Sir, if you insist on my listening to-night, which I should
certainly decline if I had the power.'
'Thank you, Miss Lake.' And the attorney took a chair, crossing one leg
over the other, and throwing his head back as he reclined in it with his
long arm over the back—the 'express image,' as he fancied, of a polished
gentleman, conducting a diplomatic interview with a clever and high-bred
lady.
'Then it is plain, Sir, I must hear you to-night,' said Miss Lake, haughtily.
'Not that, exactly, Miss Lake, but only that I must speak
to-night—in fact, I have no choice. The subject of our conference really
is, as you will find, an urgent one, and to-morrow morning, which we
should each equally prefer, would be possibly too late—too late, at
least, to obviate a very painful situation.'
'You will make it, I am sure, as short as you can, Sir,' said the young
lady, in the same tone.
'Exactly my wish, Miss Lake,' replied Mr. Jos. Larkin.