Richard Arden had already left the room, and this closing passage was lost on him. But he heard the old man's voice as he walked along the corridor, and it was still in his ears as he passed the hall-door; and, running down the steps, he jumped into his cab. Crozier held the cab-door open, and wished Mr. Richard a kind good-night. He stood on the steps to see the last of the cab as it drove down the shadowy avenue and was lost in gloom. He sighed heavily. What a broken family it was! He was an old servant, born on their northern estate--loyal, and somewhat rustic--and, certainly, had the baronet been less in want of money, not exactly the servant he would have chosen.
"The old gentleman cannot last long," he said, as he followed the sound of the retreating wheels with his gaze, "and then Master Richard will take his turn, and what one began the other will finish. It is all up with the Ardens. Sir Reginald ruined, Master Harry murdered, and Master David turned tradesman! There's a curse on the old house."
He heard the baronet's tread faintly, pacing the floor in agitation, as he passed his door; and when he reached the housekeeper's room, that old lady, Mrs. Tansey, was alone and all of a tremble, standing at the door. Before her dim staring eyes had risen an oft-remembered scene: the ivy-covered gatehouse at Mortlake Hall; the cold moon glittering down through the leafless branches; the grey horse on its side across the gig-shaft, and the two villains--one rifling and the other murdering poor Henry Arden, the baronet's gay and reckless brother.
"Lord, Mr. Crozier! what's crossed Sir Reginald?" she said huskily, grasping the servant's wrist with her lean hand. "Master Dick, I do suppose. I thought he was to come no more. They quarrel always. I'm like to faint, Mr. Crozier."
"Sit ye down, Mrs. Tansey, Ma'am; you should take just a thimbleful of something. What has frightened you?"
"There's a scritch in Sir Reginald's voice--mercy on us!--when he raises it so; it is the very cry of poor Master Harry--his last cry, when the knife pierced him. I'll never forget it!"
The old woman clasped her fingers over her eyes, and shook her head slowly.
"Well, that's over and ended this many a day, and past cure. We need not fret ourselves no more about it--'tis thirty years since."