CHAPTER V.

PUT TO THE QUESTION.

WILFRED MARSDEN awoke with his frame chilled and stiffened, and a weight like lead at his heart. Before full consciousness returned, he had a sense that something dreadful had happened, or was going to happen. It was no longer night. The bright summer morning had dawned; the air was full of the music of birds and the perfume of flowers; already the bee was abroad, humming merrily on the wing. The sky was gorgeous with crimson clouds, and the dew sparkled in the level rays of the rising sun, as if the sward had been spangled with diamonds!

But the beauty of Nature, its fair sights and sweet sounds, had now no charm for Wilfred. He rose, stretched himself, heaved a deep-drawn sigh, and then slowly sauntered towards the Hall. Still every blind was drawn down, and all was silence within. Wilfred knew that the house would not be opened for two or three hours, and there was something intolerably irksome to the boy in having to wait so long, with no company but that of his own remorseful thoughts. He stood for some minutes gazing at the closed door, with its knocker which he dared not raise, its bell which he dared not ring; and a fearful idea crossed Wilfred's mind, that as he was shut out from his father's home, so might he be one day shut out from heaven! Would not a single unforsaken, unforgiven sin bar the door of mercy for ever? Wilfred could hardly endure his own reflections: he paced up and down, up and down, restless as a caged wild beast, during the weary interval that elapsed before the church clock struck seven. Then, indeed, there were sounds of movement in the house.

Young Marsden, with a feeling of relief, heard the rattle of the chain, and the grating of the bolt of the large outer door. He resolved to wait for a few minutes outside until Martha the servant, as was her wont, should have passed on to open the dining-room shutters, as he did not wish to be seen as he entered the Hall. Meantime, Rosa May, who had risen very early, had been attracted to the gate by the appearance at it of a little girl carrying a basket full of lovely field flowers. It was the young daughter of the farm-bailiff, who, having been sent by her mother with cream and fresh butter to the Hall from the home farm, had added to her charge a bouquet of fragrant blossoms as her own offering to the bride.

Rosa was peering into the basket when Wilfred (who was concealed behind the laurels) perceived her and again hesitated. He thought she would never leave off talking to the village child, but at length she turned to enter the house, and was going up the steps when she caught sight of him.

"Why, I thought that I was first in the field!" cried the lively girl. "How did you manage to get out before me? Did you pass like a fairy through the key-hole?"

Wilfred could stand no questioning then; brushing past the young lady with uncourteous haste, he hurried into the house, then up the broad staircase three steps at a time, and buried himself in his room.

But change of place brought no relief to the unhappy Wilfred; wherever he went, he bore with him the burden of his terrible secret.

Time passed; Wilfred heard at last the familiar sound of the bell for prayers. Almost for the first time in his life he did not obey the summons. How could he kneel down and pray for forgiveness of sin, when resolved to go on in his sinning? How venture to ask for grace, when he did not wish to obtain it? Wilfred knew that such prayers would be but a mockery; and yet how could one brought up in the fear of God endure to live without prayer?

After awhile, another bell sounded; guests had come to breakfast, and Wilfred knew that the family were assembling at the social meal. Wilfred was aware that his absence would be noticed, and yet could hardly summon up courage sufficient to face the circle below. Would not everyone read in his face the secret which burdened his soul?

While yet undecided, Wilfred heard a soft tap, then a gentle voice at his door.

"Dear Willy," said Mina Marsden, "are you not coming to breakfast? Mr. Allfrey and sisters have dropped in early to settle arrangements for to-morrow. I miss you so much at the table. Will you not come down soon, and help me to entertain all our guests?"

"I am coming," said Wilfred, laconically; and, as soon as he had heard Mina's light step tripping downstairs, he followed her to the breakfast-room, which she had quitted in order to call him.

A burst of merry laughter was the first sound which fell on Wilfred's ear as he entered, and the words uttered in Rosa's liveliest tone, "I'm certain that he had seen a ghost!"

"Here he is himself!" cried Mr. Allfrey, jovial young squire, whose sisters were to act as bridesmaids.

"Why, we thought that you were never going to make your appearance, Master Wilfred, and I can certify that you were up early enough!" exclaimed Rosa, as the boy exchanged morning greetings with his father and his guests.

Wilfred would fain have taken his place by Mr. Marsden or Mina, but Rosa had reserved a seat for him by herself, and he could not avoid taking possession of it, as no other chair was vacant.

"Now, we're all dying of curiosity, Sophia especially, to know what you saw in the old oak room!" continued the lively young lady, fixing her keen black eyes upon Wilfred.

Mina saw uneasiness in the countenance of her brother, and proposed deferring questioning until he should have taken his breakfast.

"Breakfast! Who could talk or think of such a common every-day thing when a real ghost is on the 'tapis?' Wilfred has seen something—I'm certain that he has! Nothing but an apparition of the most strange and striking description could account for his singular conduct this morning."

"What do you mean?" asked Wilfred, with a stern resolution to face out the difficulty as best he might.

"Don't you call it very singular conduct in a young gentleman to make his exit from the house by an upper window instead of a door?" cried Rosa, with the keen enjoyment which a sharp lawyer might feel in bringing forward incontrovertible evidence.

"Who said that I did?" asked Wilfred.

"It was a riddle to me," cried Rosa, "how you had managed to leave the house without unfastening the bolts, until I looked at the trained rose-trees which had the ill-luck to be planted under your window—which window was, by the way, wide open! It was clear enough that that rose-tree, ill-fitted as it might be for the purpose, had been used last night as a ladder. Some of the branches were torn from their fastenings, several twigs were snapped, and the poor roses looked as if some great bear had chosen the plant as a pole for climbing."

There was profound silence round the table as Rosa paused, and every eye was turned upon Wilfred in curiosity and interest. The boy stared sternly at his plate, but could not utter a word.

"Besides," added Rosa, triumphantly, "there was a good deep print of a pair of slippers impressed on the sod just beneath the window. I've a notion that Master Wilfred Marsden knows who wore those slippers."

Wilfred longed to rush out of the room, but struggled hard to hide all outward sign of emotion.

"Now we may imagine," continued the young lady, "that the occupant of the oak room had merely taken a harmless fancy for a ramble by moonlight, a hunt after bats and owls, or a quiet study of the stars. But if so, why, when he met a fair lady in the morning, did he start as if he took her for a goblin—which she certainly by no means resembles? Why was his face, as white as a sheet, his eyes hollow and wild in expression, and his hands all covered with earth? Why did he not answer a civil question, but rush madly into the house?"

"Really, Wilfred," said Sophia, a young lady with languid eyelids, long light hair, and a manner rather affected, "we shall expect from you a thrilling account of your adventures in a haunted chamber."

"What did you see?" asked John Allfrey.

"Or hear?" added his sister Amelia.

"Was there not a ghost, just say—was there not a ghost?" cried Rosa, leaning eagerly forward, and laying her hand upon Wilfred's arm.

The boy's patience was utterly exhausted. Shaking off his cousin's hand with a rudeness which he had never before shown to a lady, he rose from table with the muttered remark, "None but idiots talk about ghosts."

Mr. Marsden looked grave, Mina distressed, an angry flush came to the cheek of Rosa; in a moment the merriment of the party was changed to painful restraint. No one knew what to say next, till Edward Lyle mentioned archery, in order to effect a diversion, and the guests rose at once, and broke up the circle round the table.

All soon quitted the room, except the Marsdens, who lingered behind. Mina perceived that her father was displeased with her brother, and, dreading a painful scene, she entreated her parent with her pleading eyes to spare the wounded spirit of his son. Wilfred was evidently then in no state to bear a rebuke.

"I leave him to you," said Mr. Marsden, in answer to her silent appeal, and he also quitted the apartment. He was surprised as well as annoyed at the temper shown by his boy.

Mina noiselessly performed the little duties which belong to the lady of a house; replaced the sugar-basin, locked the tea-caddy, and set aside the broken loaf for the poor. She was giving time to Wilfred, who stood at the window, to recover his temper and self-command. Then she softly addressed her young brother—

"You have taken no breakfast, dear Wilfred?"

"I want none," was the sullen reply.

"I think—I fear that you cannot be well."

"Why should you think so?" asked her brother.

"Because—you were not like yourself just now." Mina laid her soft hand on the arm of the boy. "Perhaps you did not mean it, dear Wilfred, but your words gave pain to poor Rosa."

"She brought it on herself," muttered Wilfred. "I never knew so provoking a tongue."

"She has high spirits and a playful manner, but she never means to give serious offence," said Mina; "and at a time like this," added the young bride, "I should wish her—you—all to be so happy."

Wilfred glanced hastily at his sister, and saw moisture gleaming on her soft lashes.

"Are you not happy?" he exclaimed.

"How can I be so," answered Mina, "when I see that my darling brother has some trouble which he has not confided to me?"

The heart of Wilfred was softened. "You must not care about me, nor think about me," he said; "I am not to be always crushing your blossoms. I have a headache." He pressed his hot brow—the plea was not altogether a false one, though the pain in the poor boy's heart was much worse than that to his head.

"Would the air do you good?" suggested Mina, looking anxiously into his face.

"I can't join that noisy party at the shooting."

"But a quiet walk in the garden with me?"

"If you wish it—anything," answered Wilfred; and he added, with a little sigh, "I shall not have you with me to-morrow!"

And so forth into the garden sauntered the brother and sister; Mina indulging a hope that in their quiet converse together Wilfred might unburden his heart of the mysterious weight which she felt assured was pressing upon it.