A few words are needful concerning Sir Valary and his daughter. Sir Valary, known to be as proud as any who had ever borne his name, lived a life of extraordinary seclusion and self-denial. For many years he had banished from his home every sound of mirth, every vestige of social comfort. His servants, who had, at the death of Lady De la Mark, been greatly reduced in number, had gradually become fewer, until every female office was represented by Mrs. Gillies, a old and greatly-attached domestic, while Shadrach Higgs, with his boy Robinson, whom he had pressed into the service, held the same comprehensive post in the other sex.
What had caused so great a change—for at one time Parker's Dew, or Castle De la Mark, as it was called, was noted for its courtly splendour and unbounded hospitality—no one knew. Some attributed it to the early death of Lady De la Mark; others to the influence of Bloodworth. Squire Brimble, who seldom allowed himself to speak of his brother, when he did give an opinion said, 'It's the love of money—that's enough to account for anything.'
The growing infirmities of Sir Valary had kept him long a prisoner in his chamber, at the door of which now, as described by Mrs. Gillies, sat his daughter Marjory. There was nothing heroine-like in her appearance. Low in stature and plain in feature, she owed all her attraction to the force of her character and the peculiarity of her early training. Indomitable courage shone in her dark eyes, and patience, the result of a deeply-exercised spirit, gave a sweet calm to her face. Her dress was, from necessity, somewhat singular. For a long period she had been limited to her mother's wardrobe, and, careless of the fashion in which the garments were made, she wore them without change, as her mother had left them.
'He sleeps so long!' said Marjory, her pale face resting against the chamber door.
'I've known him sleep longer, miss,' said Mrs. Gillies, peering up the spiral staircase. 'If you'd just please to taste these fresh cakes that Shady has brought in, and the chocolate, that's drying up from standing these hours, I should be thankful;' and she displayed the cakes, the choice of which had exercised greatly Shady's discriminating powers. Marjory, prevailed on, left her to watch. 'You know, miss,' said the faithful creature, 'if you take ill, we have no power to keep off that man when he comes; and one way we're all alike, for the highest can't do without eating and drinking, no more than the lowest.' Marjory did not at all, at that moment, feel exalted above the conditions of humanity. Bloodworth's behaviour had convinced her that he possessed some secret militating against her father's honour, and that this was the source of the power he exercised over him.
The loneliness in which she had been reared had made her very self-reliant. She had borne much personal inconvenience in silence; and if it had been only for herself that she had now to suffer or to do, she would not have been slow in her plan of acting; but it seemed necessary that some one, more equal than she was to cope with the steward, should step in between him and her father, for whose very life she trembled, if such excitement as he had that day suffered should be renewed. Yet, if her suspicions were correct, how could she, without treading on dangerous ground, take any one into her counsels? and, indeed, who was there to whom she could refer? To her uncle, her natural protector after her father, she had been a stranger for many years; and she had grown from childhood to womanhood with no other companion than her father. One there was, indeed, and to him she inclined to open her heart, and that one was Dr. Cruden, the high-minded and skilful physician, who was the sole visitor of gentle blood at Parker's Dew.
Filled with painful conflict, she resumed her seat at the chamber-door. A slight noise was gratefully heard by her, and, entering, she found the long sleep had produced its usual effect of refreshing calm. Sir Valary smiled gently on her, and, as if forgetful of the distressing occurrences of the morning, received with pleased readiness all her tender endeavours to restore and amuse him; and thus passed the evening peacefully away.
Several days followed in the same calm. Sir Valary and his daughter seemed with equal care to avoid the name of Bloodworth, and both were secretly thankful when the evening closed, without his presence having embittered the day.
One morning, Marjory, receiving Shady's promise not to go beyond earshot of her father, prepared for one of those long rambles in the surrounding woods which never failed to procure for her rest and relaxation of mind. Her book-learning was small. In the great book of nature, that lay before her, she was an ardent student. Shady, who fondly considered himself, in some sort, her preceptor, had endeavoured to inspire her with a love of heraldry, and was never tired of expatiating on the endless genealogies connected with the tree of De la Mark. But though she loved to wander among the portraits of her ancient house, dimly lighted up by the few sunbeams that could struggle through a loosened shutter here and there, her thoughts were wholly given to those people of the past that looked grimly from the wall, while he was trying to explore and expound their heraldic bearings. She knew most of the faces by heart; but her head was little encumbered with the technicalities of which he was so proud. Shady had plodded through the elements of botany, that he might usher her also into it. She soon learned with avidity all he could teach her, and, unaided by other help than her own affection for the pursuit, became well accomplished in it. But we must follow her in her walk.
Her mind had been too much exercised of late to allow her to give thought to anything but one reigning subject. Her case for wild flowers remained unused, as she passed musingly through the tangled wood. When at a little distance from the house, she was arrested once or twice by sounds of rustling amongst the branches. The once carefully-arranged paths were now so ill kept that they were in some parts difficult to penetrate. No stranger ever intruded there. She supposed it to be some woodman gathering brushwood, and passed carelessly on; but, coming suddenly on a cleared space, from which, through an opening in the trees, appeared a fine and extensive view of the country around, she saw whence the sounds had proceeded.
The reader does not need a second description—it was the strange lodger from Stoney Gates. He was apparently surveying the scene with artistic purpose, his implements lying on the turf, and he was arranging a piece of broken timber to form a seat of convenient height and situation.
The meeting was one of mutual and equal surprise. Each surveyed the other steadily, and in silence; but the stranger, soon recovering himself, lifted his cap with courtly propriety, for he needed nothing to tell him he was in company with gentle blood. Marjory returned the salutation, and was passing onward; but a sense of inhospitality detained her; she lingered, and said hesitatingly, 'You are a draughtsman?' He bowed. 'You are going to put down some of our scenery?' Again he assented. 'Would you not like to have the Castle De la Mark in your foreground, with this fine country behind?'
'I have been trying to get that,' he replied; 'but the house is so surrounded I can find no favourable standing-ground.'
'I will lead you to one,' she said; and, making her way with easy rapidity through the thicket, she emerged on a spot favourable in every way to the accomplishment of the design. The graceful dexterity with which she overcame all the obstacles of the labyrinth struck him with admiration. 'She is worthy of an Ame............