The appearance of the individual who admitted them into what may be called the prison of Mr. Edermont was odd to merit a description. Lambert Joad, the friend, , and of Dora's , was a short, man on sixty years. He had a large face, clean-shaven, and bluish-red in ; his mouth was loose, his chin double, his jowl ; and his nose was scarcely by two eyes of a pale blue. A few tufts of white hair covered the baldness of his ; and his ears, hands, and feet were all large and ill-shaped. He dressed in black, wore carpet , and a wisp of white ribbon did duty as a collar. This last hinted at a clerical , and hinted rightly, for Lambert Joad was an unsuccessful parson of the Anglican Church.
Some forty years he had been a college friend of Edermont's, and in due course had taken orders, but either from lack of brains, or of , 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 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 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 . 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 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," the other; "you will make medical suggestions in the of friendly remarks. So like your father, that is."
"My father, Mr. Joad? Did you know him?" asked Scott, astonished.
"Yes; I do not think," added Joad, with a spice of , "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 . "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 ."
"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 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 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 on the steps of the porch, whence the wings of 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 , "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 an accident."
"I don't think so," said Dora ; "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 to them from above.
"Do not talk any more of that woman," cried Mr. Edermont with a 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 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 ," said Scott, and entered the house.
He was not superstitious, as he stated; yet at that moment he might well have been so, for in the act of the stairs he was entering on a dark and path, at the end of which the shadow of death.
When his gray tweeds vanished up the stairs, Dora turned her eyes in the direction of Mr. Joad. He was seated in a straw chair under a cedar-tree, and looked a on the loveliness of the view. All else was blue sky and stretches of emerald green, golden sunshine, and multicoloured flowers; this untidy, disreputable creature, a up mass of black, seemed out of place. But, for all that, Dora was glad he was within speaking distance, and alone. So to speak, he was the key to the problem which was then perplexing her--the problem of her premonition.
That a healthy, breezy young woman should possess so a fancy seems ; and Dora took this view of the matter herself. She was troubled rarely by forebodings, by premonitions, or vague fears; nevertheless, there was a superstitious side to her character. Hitherto, in her and healthy existence, there had been no chance for the development of this particular side; but now, from various causes, it betrayed itself in a feeling of depression. Mr. Edermont's fainting and mention of Lady Burville; that lady's fainting and anxiety concerning the ; and finally, Mr. Joad's assertion that Lady Burville had known Allen's father--all these facts hinted that something was about to happen. Dora did not know what the something could possibly be, but she felt that it would affect the lives of herself and her lover. Therefore she was anxious to know the worst at once, and accordingly, going out to meet her troubles, she walked forward to the Silenus on the lawn.
Joad saw her coming, and looked up with what was meant to be a fascinating smile. This disreputable old creature had the passions of youth in spite of his age, and in his senile way he greatly admired the of his patron. His took the annoying form of constantly her wishes. If Dora wanted a book, a paper, a chair, a bunch of flowers, Joad was always at hand to supply her wants. At first she accepted these attentions carelessly enough, deeming them little but the pertinacities of an old man; but of late she had found Joad and his attentions rather troublesome. Moreover, his demeanour, his leers, his oily courtesies, made her feel uneasy. Nevertheless, she did not dream that the old creature was in love with her beauty. So absurd an idea never entered her head. But Joad was in love, for all that, and cherished his hopeless passion.
"Mr. Joad," said Dora , coming to the point at once, "who is Lady Burville?"
"Dear Miss Carew," cried the old man, ignoring the question, and rising to his feet, "pray be seated in this chair. The sun is hot, but here you will be out of the glare."
"Never mind about the glare and the chair," said Dora, making an unconscious rhyme; "I asked you a question. Who is Lady Burville?"
"Lady Burville?" repeated Joad, seeing he could no longer escape answering; "let me see. Mr. Pride said something about her. Oh yes: she is the wife of Sir John Burville, the African millionaire, and I believe she is the guest of Sir Hernwood at the Hall."
"Go on," said Dora, seeing that he paused; "what else do you know?"
"Nothing. What I repeated was only Pride's gossip. I am ignorant of the lady's history. And if you come to that, Miss Dora," added Joad with a smile, "why should I not be ignorant?"
"But you hinted that Lady Burville knew Allen's father," persisted Dora, annoyed by his of her question.
"Did I?" said Joad, suddenly conveying a vacant expression into his eyes. "I do not remember, Miss Dora. If I did, I was not thinking of what I was saying."
"You are deceiving me, Mr. Joad."
"Why should I, Miss Dora? If I knew anything about this lady I would tell you willingly; but it so happens that I know nothing."
"You spoke as though you knew a good deal, retorted Dora angrily.
"I spoke at , young lady. And if you--why, what's the matter with Julian?"
It was little wonder that he asked the question, for Edermont had opened his window again, and was hanging out of it crying and gesticulating like some terrible Punch.
"Lambert! Lambert!" he . "Come and help me! He will kill me--kill me!"
Joad towards the house as quickly as his old legs could take him. He was followed by the astonished Dora, and they were about to step into the entrance-hall, when Allen Scott came flying down the stairs. He was wild-eyed, breathless, and as gray in hue as the clothes he wore.
"Allen!" cried Dora, at his mad looks, "what is the matter?"
"Don't stop me, for God's sake!" said the doctor , and avoiding her outstretched hand, he fled hastily down the garden-path. A click of the gate, which had not been locked by Joad, and he vanished from their sight.
Dora stared at Joad; he looked back at her with a grin at the flight of her lover, and overhead, at the open window, they heard the of Julian Edermont.