The Light of Scarthey: A Romance. Castle Egerton

dog, that for some moments had shown an anxious restlessness in singular concert with his master's, now rose at last to sniff beneath the door. No sound penetrated the roar of the blast; but the old retriever's uneasiness, his sharp, warning bark at length recalled Sir Adrian's wandering thoughts to the present. And, walking up to the door, he opened it.

      Oh, God! Had the sea given up its dead?

      Sir Adrian staggered back, fell on his knees and clapped his hands together with an agonised cry:

      "Cécile…!"

      CHAPTER VI

      THE WHEEL OF TIME

      And to his eye

      There was but one beloved face on earth,

      And that was shining on him.

Byron.

      Upon the threshold she stood, looking in upon him with dark, luminous eyes; round the small wet face tangles of raven hair fell limp and streaming; dark raiments clung to her form, diapered with sand and sea-foam, sodden with the moisture that dripped from them to the floor; under the hem of her skirt one foot peered forth, shoeless in its mud-stained stocking.

      Sir Adrian stared up at her, his brain whirling with a frenzy of joy, gripped in its soaring ecstasy by terror of the incomprehensible.

      On the wings of the storm and the wind had she come to him, his love – across the awful barriers that divide life and death? Had his longings and the clamour of his desolate soul reached her, after all these years, in the far-beyond, and was her sweet ghost here to bid him cease from them and let her lie at rest? Or, yet, had she come to call him from the weary world that their souls might meet and be one at last?.. Then let her but lay her lips against his, as once in the bitterness of death, that his sorely-tried heart may break with the exquisite pang and he, too, may die upon their kiss.

      Swift such thoughts were tossing in the turmoil of his mind when the vision smiled … a young, rosy, living smile; and then reason, memory, the wonder of her coming, the haunting of her grave went from him; possessed by one single rapturous certainty he started up and gathered the wet form into his strong arms – yet gently as if he feared to crush the vision into void – and showered kisses on the wet face.

      Not death – but life! A beating heart beneath his; a lithe young form under his hand, warm lips to his kisses, … Merciful Heaven! Were, then, these twenty years all an evil, fevered dream, and was he awake at length?

      She turned her face from him after a moment and put her hand against his breast to push him from her; and as she did so the wonder in the lovely, familiar eyes turned to merriment, and the lips parted into laughter.

      The sound of the girlish laughter broke the spell. Sir Adrian stepped back, and passed his hand across his forehead with a dazed look.

      And still she laughed on.

      "Why, cousin Landale," she said, at length between the peals; "I came to throw myself upon your kindness for shelter from the storm, but – I had not anticipated such a reception."

      The voice, clear and sweet, with just a tinge of outlandish intonation, struck Adrian to the heart.

      "I have not heard," he faltered, "that voice for twenty years…!"

      Then, coming up to her, he took her hands; and, drawing her towards the firelight, scanned her features with eager, hungering eyes.

      "Do not think me mad, child," he said at last; "tell me who you are – what has brought you here? Ah, God, at such a moment! Who is it," he pursued, as if to himself, whilst still she smiled mockingly and answered not; "who is it, then, since Cécile de Savenaye is dead – and I am not dreaming – nor in fever? No vision either – this is flesh and blood."

      "Yes, indeed," mocked the girl with another burst of merriment; "flesh and blood, please, and very living! Why, cousin Landale, you that knew Cécile de Savenaye so well have you forgotten two babes that were born at your own house of Pulwick? I believe, 'tis true, I have somewhat altered since you saw me last."

      And again the old room echoed to the unwonted sound of a girl's laughter.

      Now was the hallucination clearing; but the reality evoked a new and almost as poignant tenderness. Cécile – phantom of a life-time's love, reborn in the flesh, young as on the last day of her earthly existence, coming back into his life again, even the same as she had left it! A second wonder, almost as sweet as the first! He clung to it as one clings to the presence of a dream, and, joy unspeakable, the dream did not melt away, but remained, smiling, beautiful, unchanged.

      "Cécile's daughter …" he murmured: "Cécile's self again; but she was not so tall, I think," and drew trembling, reverent hands from her head to her straight young shoulders. And then he started, crying in a changed voice:

      "How wet and cold you are! Come closer to the fire – sit you into this chair, here, in the warmth."

      He piled up the hearth with faggots till the flames roared again. She dropped into the proffered chair with a little shiver; now that he recalled her to it, she was wet and cold too.

      He surveyed her with gathering concern.

      "My child," he began, and hesitated, continuing, after a short pause of musing – for the thought struck him as strange – "I may call you so, I suppose; I that am nearly old enough to be your father; my mind was so unhinged by your sudden appearance, by the wonderful resemblance, that I have neglected all my duties as host. You will suffer from this – what shall we do to comfort you? Here, Jem, good dog! Call René!"

      The old retriever who, concluding that the visitor was welcome, had returned to his doze, here gathered his stiff limbs together, hobbled out through the doorway to give two or three yelping barks at some point on the stairs, and then crawl back to his cosy corner by the hearth.

      The girl laughed again. It was all odd, new, exciting. Adrian looked down at her. Cécile, too, had had a merry heart, even through peril and misfortune.

      And now there were hasty steps upon the stairs, creaking above the outer tumult of sea and wind; and, in accordance with the long-established custom of summoning him, René appeared upon the threshold, holding a pair of candles.

      At the sight of the figure sitting by the fire he halted, as if rooted to the ground, and threw up his hands, each still clutching its candle.

      "Mademoiselle…!" he ejaculated. "Mademoiselle here!" Then, rapidly recovering his quick wits, he deposited his burden of light upon the table, advanced towards the lady, made an uncouth but profound bow, and turned to his master.

      "And this, your honour," he remarked, oracularly, and in his usual manner of literal adaptation, "was also part of the news I had for your honour from my last journey; but, my faith, I did not know how to take myself to it, as your honour was so much occupied with old times this evening. But I had seen Mademoiselle at the castle, as Mademoiselle can tell you herself. And if your honour," he added, with a look of astonishment, "will have the goodness to say how it is possible that Mademoiselle managed to arrive here on our isle, in this weather of all the devils – reverence speaking, and I humbly beg the pardon of Mademoiselle for using such words – when it was with pain I could land myself, and that before the storm – I should be grateful to your honour. For I avow I cannot comprehend it at all. Ah, your honour!" continued René, with an altered tone, "'tis a strange thing, this!"

      The looks of master and man crossed suddenly, and in the frank blue eyes of the Breton peasant, Sir Adrian read a reflex of his own thoughts.

      "Yes," he said, more in answer to the look than to the exclamation, "yes, it is a strange thing, friend."

      "And his Honour cannot read the riddle any more than you yourself, René," quoth Mademoiselle de Savenaye, composedly from her corner; "and, as for me, I can give no explanations until I am a little warmer."

      "Why, truly," exclaimed Sir Adrian, striking his forehead, "we are a very pair of dolts! Hurry, Renny, hurry, call up Margery, and bid her bring some hot drink – tea, broth, or what she has – and blankets. Stay! first fetch my furred cloak; quick, René, every moment is precious!"

      With all the agitation