CHAPTER VI.

FACING IT OUT.

MINA and Wilfred Marsden walked for some minutes together in silence; she hoping that her brother would commence conversation, he not knowing what to say. Wilfred had always been accustomed to show perfect candour towards his sister. Though a few years younger than herself, he had been her constant playmate and companion, sharing with her his hopes and fears, and making her in all things his confidante and adviser. This was the first time that the boy had possessed a secret which he withheld from Mina, and if his silence was painful to her, it was yet more burdensome to himself.

The maiden made one or two unsuccessful attempts to commence conversation. Her observations called forth no reply from her brother, and she was beginning to feel the restraint of his manner almost intolerable, when, on turning a corner of the shrubbery, Wilfred gave a start so sudden and violent that it was sympathetically communicated to the sister whose arm was linked in his own.

"What is it?" exclaimed Mina, in alarm.

"He's digging near the cypress!" cried Wilfred.

The tone, not the sense of the exclamation, made the wondering girl look in the same direction as did her brother, and she saw certainly no cause either for surprise or apprehension in the familiar figure of Joe, the gardener, bending over his spade. Wilfred, however, could not conceal his nervous excitement, as he hastened up to the man.

"Why are you digging to-day," cried he, "when you ought to be stripping the beds of flowers to deck the church and the Hall?"

"Miss Rosa said as how the ladies would gather the flowers themselves," replied Joe, passing his brown hand across his rough chin.

"You should make a triumphal arch, then," said Wilfred.

"Well, Master Wilfred, ye see, that's what all the school-children—"

"Who cares for the school-children?" exclaimed young Marsden, almost stamping with irritation. "Such things are not to be left to them! This is no time to be turning up the earth, like a mole! Leave your spade, and go help in the preparations—no common work shall be done to-day."

Joe set his spade against the tree and slowly went away, wondering—if his unimpressionable nature was capable of wonder—at the strangely changed manner of the boy, who had usually a merry word and a kind smile for the faithful old servant.

On turning round, Wilfred met his sister's distressed and anxious gaze; a terrible idea had just flashed across her mind, that her brother's brain might be affected.

"Why do you look at me so?" he said, sharply.

"I cannot help feeling uneasy, dear Wilfred; I cannot—"

"Oh, here's Edward Lyle coming to see what has become of his bride; I leave you to his care," cried Wilfred, "he's a better companion than I." And turning abruptly towards the Hall, the boy left his sister in tears.

"I can't leave it there—no, no!" muttered Wilfred to himself as he strode along. "I can't have a thrill of terror through my soul whenever I see a man digging in the garden. What shall I do with that fatal parchment? If fire can't burn it, if earth will not hide it, how shall I cover my secret so closely as to lose this intolerable dread of its being discovered at last? I will dig up the will as soon as darkness sets in; I will carry it to the swift, deep stream which flows at the bottom of the field, tie a heavy stone to it, and let the waters bury it for ever. Yes, yes, I was insane not to think of this before. Would that the night were come! I shall have no rest until I have drowned the roll! I will not wait till the house is shut up; I will make my escape after dinner; for twenty minutes I shall not be missed, and twenty minutes will suffice for the deed. In the meantime, I must lull suspicion by putting on my old cheerful manner. I must let no one consider me strange; I must reassure the mind of sweet Mina; I must act a lie!" Wilfred ground his teeth at the thought. "I must lay aside my natural frankness and candour to wear the mask of deceit! And this is the life-long task which I have imposed on myself. Oh, what a miserable thing it is to wander from the straight path of duty!"

As Wilfred entered the Hall, he met his father accompanied by the very last man whom young Marsden would have wished at that moment to see—his injured cousin, Tom Benson!

Mr. Benson was a thin, sickly-looking man, with a stoop. A long struggle with difficulties and cares, which weak health and feeble spirits had rendered more hard, had left the stamp on his features of almost peevish melancholy. There were lines on his face and furrows on his brow which, however, on the present auspicious occasion, were rather less marked than usual; and though his smile was of a sickly character, there was still an attempt to smile. Mr. Benson bore a reputation for narrowness of mind and penuriousness of nature, which had rendered him an object of contempt to Wilfred, who had prided himself on generosity and delicate sense of honour.

But what a change the last twelve hours had wrought in the feelings of the youth! But the day before, it would have been impossible to have persuaded Wilfred Marsden that he could ever be abashed and humbled by the presence of his cousin, that he could ever be ashamed to look that man in the face, or feel a pang of remorse at shaking him by the hand!

"Our cousin has walked over all the way from Thornley to see our dear bride," said Mr. Marsden, "and has kindly brought her strawberries which have been gathered from his own garden."

"Poor things, poor things!" said Mr. Benson apologetically. "I am my own gardener, as you know. And how have you been?" he continued, addressing himself to Wilfred. "It does not seem to me that you are looking as well as usual."

"I do not think that Wilfred is very well," said Mr. Marsden, struck, as the visitor had been, by the haggard looks of his boy.

"Too much bustle for him, too much excitement; he feels parting with his sister," observed Benson. "You must let him, when all is over, come to me for a change. I've not much to offer, to be sure, but the air is counted fine at Thornley."

"Your cousin is very kind," said Mr. Marsden to Wilfred, whose silence he mistook for rudeness.

"Too kind," faltered the boy; and his words had a depth of meaning which his hearers little understood.

"Shall we join the party on the lawn?" said Mr. Marsden. "I heard something said about archery."

The three proceeded to the place where the guests were assembled in front of the target, amusing themselves by shooting.

Wilfred at once commenced following out his resolution of lulling any suspicions which his strange demeanour might have excited, by assuming gaiety of manner. He almost over-acted his part. Amidst his cheerful companions, none was so uproariously merry as he. He jested with the bridesmaids, whistled, sang, readily joined in amusements, and though he did not shoot with a steady hand, when his arrows went wide of the mark, none laughed so loudly as Wilfred. He was making a desperate effort not only to deceive those around him, but to drown in wild excitement the misery which he felt. He would give himself no time for thought; he would intoxicate himself with amusement! Wretched resource of the worldly, who seek to fly from themselves, and gild the fetters which they cannot throw off, in hopes of forgetting their weight.

There were but two of those around him whose society Wilfred instinctively shunned.

He could not bear to be near the relative whom he was defrauding of his rights, and he avoided all converse with Rosa with a kind of intuitive dread. Wilfred knew that he had offended the young lady; he believed that he had drawn upon himself both her suspicion and dislike; he felt that she was watching him, and, though at present forbearing to question, was intent upon discovering his secret.

With these two exceptions, Wilfred chatted freely with all the guests of his father. He even, in conversation with Sophia, purposely entered on the subject of the oak room, and forced himself to assure her, with a smiling face, that he had not seen the shadow of a ghost. He had, however, he said, found the chamber oppressively hot, and had taken the simplest means of getting fresh air without disturbing the house.

So passed the day before the wedding until the dinner-hour arrived. The afternoon had been rainy, and archery had been exchanged for in-door amusements. Wilfred had been the life and soul of the party at the bagatelle-table and the round game, and had shown indefatigable energy in decorating the Hall. Yet Mina's heart was not at rest; she suspected that her brother's mirth was assumed, and that his jests and laughter were no true tokens of a light and buoyant heart. Even with her betrothed at her side, the young maiden's spirit was troubled on account of her brother. It pained Mina to notice at dinner that, though Wilfred's usual beverage was water, he filled and refilled his glass of wine, and pledged the bride and bridesmaids with loud and boisterous mirth. Mina gave the signal to leave the table earlier than she otherwise would have done, and the gentlemen immediately followed the ladies.

Wilfred watched for an opportunity of stealing away from the party. The arrival and unpacking of the grand cake from London, which had come so late that fears had been entertained lest the splendour of the wedding-breakfast should be marred by its non-appearance, gave the opportunity required. While the party gathered around the box, whose contents were of so interesting a nature, Wilfred glided silently away, unnoticed, as he thought, by all; he knew not that a pair of sharp black eyes were watching every movement; keen as hound on a scent was curiosity in the bosom of Rosa May.