We had returned from a ride. Romayne had gone into the library to
read; and I was just leaving the stables, after a look at some
recent improvements, when a pony-chaise with a gentleman in it
drove up to the door. He asked
politely if he might be allowed to
see the house. There were some fine pictures at Vange, as well as
many interesting relics of
antiquity; and the rooms were shown,
in Romayne's
absence, to the very few travelers who were
adventurous enough to cross the heathy desert that surrounded the
Abbey. On this occasion, the stranger was informed that Mr.
Romayne was at home. He at once apologized--with an appearance of
disappointment, however, which induced me to step forward and
speak to him.
"Mr. Romayne is not very well," I said; "and I cannot
venture to
ask you into the house. But you will be
welcome, I am sure, to
walk round the grounds, and to look at the ruins of the Abbey."
He thanked me, and accepted the
invitation. I find no great
difficulty in describing him, generally. He was
elderly, fat. and
cheerful; buttoned up in a long black frockcoat, and presenting
that closely shaven face and that inveterate expression of
watchful
humility about the eyes, which we all
associate with the
reverend
personality of a priest.
To my surprise, he seemed, in some degree at least, to know his
way about the place. He made straight for the
dreary little lake
which I have already mentioned, and stood looking at it with an
interest which was so incomprehensible to me, that I own I
watched him.
He ascended the slope of the moorland, and entered the gate which
led to the grounds. All that the gardeners had done to make the
place
attractive failed to claim his attention. He walked past
lawns, shrubs, and flower-beds, and only stopped at an old stone
fountain, which
tradition declared to have been one of the
ornaments of the garden in the time of the monks. Having
carefully examined this relic of
antiquity, he took a sheet of
paper from his pocket, and consulted it attentively. It might
have been a plan of the house and grounds, or it might not--I can
only report that he took the path which led him, by the shortest
way, to the ruined Abbey church.
As he entered the roofless inclosure, he reverently removed his
hat. It was impossible for me to follow him any further, without
exposing myself to the risk of discovery. I sat down on one of
the fallen stones,
waiting to see him again. It must have been at
least half an hour before he appeared. He thanked me for my
kindness, as composedly as if he had quite expected to find me in
the place that I occupied.
"I have been deeply interested in all that I have seen," he said.
"May I
venture to ask, what is perhaps an indiscreet question on
the part of a stranger?"
I
ventured, on my side, to inquire what the question might be.
"Mr. Romayne is indeed fortunate," he resumed, "in the possession
of this beautiful place. He is a young man, I think?"
"Yes."
"Is he married?"
"No."
"Excuse my
curiosity. The owner of Vange Abbey is an interesting
person to all good antiquaries like myself. Many thanks again.
Good-day."
His pony-chaise took him away. His last look rested--not on
me--but on the old Abbey.
IX.
MY record of events approaches its
conclusion.
On the next day we returned to the hotel in London. At Romayne's
suggestion, I sent the same evening to my own house for any
letters which might be
waiting for me. His mind still dwelt on
the duel; he was morbidly eager to know if any
communication had
been received from the French surgeon.
When the
messenger returned with my letters, the Boulogne
postmark was on one of the envelopes. At Romayne's
entreaty, this
was the letter that I opened first. The surgeon's
signature was
at the end.
One
motive for anxiety--on my part--was set at rest in the first
lines. After an official
inquiry into the circumstances, the
French authorities had
decided that it was not
expedient to put