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THE SHADOW OF ASHLYDYAT

by

MRS. HENRY WOOD

Author of
"East Lynne," "The Channings," "Johnny Ludlow," etc.

One Hundred and Eightieth Thousand







Macmillan and Co., Limited
St. Martin's Street, London
1907

All rights reserved

London:
Printed by William Clowes and Sons, Limited,
Duke Street, Stamford Street, S.E., and Great Windmill Street, W.




CONTENTS.


PART THE FIRST.

  CHAPTER                                                           PAGE
      I.  THE MEET OF THE HOUNDS                                       1
     II.  LADY GODOLPHIN'S FOLLY                                       9
    III.  THE DARK PLAIN IN THE MOONLIGHT                             17
     IV.  ALL SOULS' RECTORY                                          24
      V.  THOMAS GODOLPHIN'S LOVE                                     33
     VI.  CHARLOTTE PAIN                                              41
    VII.  BROOMHEAD                                                   45
   VIII.  A SNAKE IN THE GRASS                                        52
     IX.  MR. SANDY'S "TRADE"                                         60
      X.  THE SHADOW                                                  66
     XI.  A TELEGRAPHIC DESPATCH                                      73
    XII.  DEAD                                                        80
   XIII.  UNAVAILING REGRETS                                          85
    XIV.  GONE ON BEFORE                                              91
     XV.  A MIDNIGHT WALK                                             99
    XVI.  THE LAST JOURNEY                                           105
   XVII.  A ROW ON THE WATER                                         113
  XVIII.  STRAW IN THE STREETS                                       119
    XIX.  ONE STICK DISCARDED                                        125
     XX.  A REVELATION TO ALL SOULS' RECTOR                          138
    XXI.  CHARLOTTE'S BARGAIN                                        146
   XXII.  DANGEROUS AMUSEMENT                                        156


PART THE SECOND.

  CHAPTER                                                           PAGE
      I.  SIXTY POUNDS TO OLD JEKYL                                  166
     II.  WHY DID IT ANGER HIM?                                      173
    III.  CECIL'S ROMANCE                                            179
     IV.  CHARLOTTE PAIN'S "TURN-OUT"                                185
      V.  A REVELATION                                               191
     VI.  MR. VERRALL'S CHAMBERS                                     202
    VII.  BEYOND RECALL                                              208
   VIII.  THE TRADITION OF THE DARK PLAIN                            216
     IX.  THE DEAD ALIVE AGAIN                                       225
      X.  NINE THOUSAND AND FORTY-FIVE POUNDS                        236
     XI.  THOSE BONDS AGAIN!                                         239
    XII.  "I SEE IT: BUT I CANNOT EXPLAIN IT"                        244
   XIII.  A RED-LETTER DAY FOR MRS. BOND                             258
    XIV.  ISAAC HASTINGS TURNS TO THINKING                           267
     XV.  A NIGHTMARE FOR THE RECTOR OF ALL SOULS'                   272
    XVI.  MR. LAYTON "LOOKED UP"                                     278
   XVII.  GONE!                                                      290
  XVIII.  MURMURS; AND CURIOUS DOUBTS                                294
    XIX.  BOBBING JOAN                                               302
     XX.  MRS. BOND'S VISIT                                          310
    XXI.  A DREAD FEAR                                               315
   XXII.  BEARING THE BRUNT                                          329
  XXIII.  "AS FINE AS A QUEEN!"                                      343
   XXIV.  A VISIT TO LORD AVERIL                                     356
    XXV.  IN THE STREETS OF PRIOR'S ASH                              367
   XXVI.  MY LADY WASHES HER HANDS                                   377
  XXVII.  A BROKEN IDOL                                              382


PART THE THIRD.

  CHAPTER                                                           PAGE
      I.  A MORNING CALL                                             394
     II.  NEARER AND NEARER                                          405
    III.  FOR THE LAST TIME                                          409
     IV.  GATHERED TO HIS FATHERS                                    423
      V.  COMMOTION AT ASHLYDYAT                                     434
     VI.  A CROWD OF MEMORIES                                        446
    VII.  AT REST                                                    458
   VIII.  A SAD PARTING                                              466
     IX.  A SAFE VOYAGE TO HIM!                                      470


       *       *       *       *       *


   "Over him rushed, like a wind that is keen and cold and relentless,
    Thoughts of what might have been, and the weight and woe of his
          errand,
    All the dreams that had faded, and all the hopes that had vanished,
    All his life henceforth a dreary and tenantless mansion,
    Haunted by vain regrets, and pallid, sorrowful faces."
                                                             LONGFELLOW.


       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER I.

THE MEET OF THE HOUNDS.


It was a bright day in autumn: the scene one of those fair ones rarely
witnessed except in England. The sun, warm and glowing, almost as that
of a summer's day, shone on the stubble of the cornfields, whence the
golden grain had recently been gathered; gilded the tops of the
trees--so soon to pass into the "sere and yellow leaf;" illumined the
blue hills in the distance, and brought out the nearer features of the
landscape in all their light and shade. A fine landscape, comprising
hill and dale, water and green pastures, woods and open plains. Amidst
them rose the signs of busy life; mansions, cottages, hamlets, railways,
and churches, whose steeples ascended high, pointing the way to a better
Land.

The town of Prior's Ash, lying in a valley, was alive that gay morning
with excitement. It was the day appointed for the first meet of the
hounds; the P. A. hounds, of some importance in the county; and people
from far and near were flocking to see them throw off. Old and young,
gentle and simple, lords of the soil and tradesmen, all were wending
their way to the meet. The master, Colonel Max, was wont on this, the
first morning of the season, to assemble at his house for breakfast as
many as his large dining-room could by any species of crowding contain;
and it was a fine sight, drawing forth its numerous spectators to watch
them come out in procession, to the meet. As many carriages-and-four,
with their fair occupants, would come to that first meet, as you could
have seen in the old days on a country race-course. This show was an
old-fashioned local custom; Colonel Max was pleased to keep it up, and
he lacked not supporters. The opening this year was unusually early.

The gay crowd was arriving, some from the breakfast, some from their
homes. The rendezvous was a wide, open common, with no space wanting.
The restrained hounds snarled away at a short distance, and their
attendants, attired for the hunt, clacked their whips among them.

Riding a noble horse, and advancing from the opposite direction to that
of Colonel Max and his guests, came a tall, stately man, getting in
years now. His features were regular as though they had been chiselled
from marble: his fine blue eyes could sparkle yet; and his snow-white
hair, wavy as of yore, was worn rather long behind, giving him somewhat
the appearance of a patriarch. But the healthy bloom, once
characteristic of his face, had left it now: the paleness of ill-health
sat there, and he bent his body, as if too weak to bear up on his horse.
His approach was discerned; and many started forward, as with one
impulse, to greet him. None stood higher in the estimation of his
fellow-men than did Sir George Godolphin; no other name was more
respected in the county.

"This is good indeed, Sir George! To see you out again!"

"I thought I might venture," said Sir George, essaying to meet a dozen
hands at once. "It has been a long confinement; a tedious illness. Six
months, and never out of the house; and, for the last fortnight, out
only in a garden-chair. My lady wanted to box me up in the carriage this
morning; if I must come, she said. But I would not have it: had I been
unable to sit my horse, I would have remained at home."

"You feel weak still?" remarked one, after most of the greeters had had
their say, and were moving away.

"Ay. Strength, for me, has finally departed, I fear."

"You must not think that, Sir George. Now that you have so far recovered
as to go out, you will improve daily."

"And get well all one way, Godolphin," joined in the hearty voice of
Colonel Max. "Never lose heart, man."

Sir George turned his eyes upon Colonel Max with a cheerful glance. "Who
told you I was losing heart?"

"Yourself. When a man begins to talk of his strength having finally
departed, what's that, but a proof of his losing heart? Low spirits
never cured any one yet: but they have killed thousands."

"I shall be sixty-six years old to-morrow, colonel: and if, at that age,
I can 'lose heart' at the prospect of the great change, my life has
served me to little purpose. The young may faint at the near approach of
death; the old should not."

"Sixty-six, old!" ejaculated Colonel Max. "I have never kept count of my
own age, but I know I am that if I am a day; and I am young yet. I may
live these thirty years to come: and shall try for it, too."

"I hope you will, colonel," was the warm answer of Sir George Godolphin.
"Prior's Ash could ill spare you."

"I don't know about that," laughed the colonel. "But I do know that I
could ill spare life. I wish you could take the run with us this
morning!"

"I wish I could. But that you might accuse me of--what was it?--losing
heart, I would say that my last run with the hounds has been taken. It
has cost me an effort to come so far as this, walking my horse at a
snail's pace. Do you see Lady Godolphin? She ought to be here."

Colonel Max, who was a short man, raised himself in his stirrups, and
gazed from point to point of the gradually increasing crowd. "In her
carriage, I suppose?"

"In her carriage, of course," answered Sir George. "She is no amazon."
But he did not avow his reason for inquiring after his wife's
carriage--that he felt a giddiness stealing over him, and thought he
might be glad of its support. Neither did he explain that he was unable
to look round for it himself just then, under fear of falling from his
horse.

"I don't think she has come yet," said Colonel Max. "I do not see the
livery. As to the ladies, they all look so like one another now, with
their furbelows and feathers, that I'll be shot if I should know my own
wife--if I had one--at a dozen paces' distance. Here is some one else,
however."

Riding up quietly, and reining in at the side of Sir George, was a
gentleman of middle height, with dark hair, dark grey eyes, and a quiet,
pale countenance. In age he may have wanted some three or four years of
forty, and a casual observer might have pronounced him "insignificant,"
and never have cast on him a second glance. But there was a certain
attraction in his face which won its way to hearts; and his voice
sounded wonderfully sweet and kind as he grasped the hand of Sir George.

"My dear father! I am so glad to see you here!"

"And surprised too, I conclude, Thomas," returned Sir George, smiling on
his son. "Come closer to me, will you, and let me rest my arm upon your
shoulder for a minute. I feel somewhat giddy."

"Should you have ventured out on horseback?" inquired Thomas Godolphin,
as he hastened to place himself in proximity with his father.

"The air will do me good; and the exertion also. It is nothing to feel a
little weak after a confinement such as mine has been. You don't follow
the hounds to-day, I see, Thomas," continued Sir George, noting his
son's plain costume.

A smile crossed Thomas Godolphin's lips. "No, sir. I rarely do follow
them. I leave amusement to George."

"Is he here, that graceless George?" demanded the knight, searching into
the crowd with fond and admiring eyes. But the admiring eyes did not see
the object they thought to rest on.

"He is sure to be here, sir. I have not seen him."

"And your sisters? Are they here?"

"No. They did not care to come."

"Speak for Janet and Cecil, if you please, Thomas," interrupted a young
lady's voice at this juncture. The knight looked down; his son looked
down also: there stood the second daughter of the family, Bessy
Godolphin. She was a dark, quick, active little woman of thirty, with an
ever-ready tongue, and deep grey eyes.

"Bessy!" uttered Sir George, in astonishment. "Have you come here on
foot?"

"Yes, papa. Thomas asked us whether we wished to attend the meet; and
Janet--who must always be master and mistress, you know--answered that
we did not. Cecil dutifully agreed with her. I did care to attend it; so
I came alone."

"But, Bessy, why did you not say so?" remonstrated Mr. Godolphin. "You
should have ordered the carriage; you should not have come on foot. What
will people think?"

"Think!" she echoed, holding up her pleasant face to her brother, in its
saucy independence. "They can think anything they please; I am Bessy
Godolphin. I wonder how many scores have come on foot?"

"None, Bessy, of your degree, who have carriages to sit in or horses to
ride," said Sir George.

"Papa, I like to use my legs better than to have them cramped under a
habit or in a carriage; and you know I never could bend to form and
fashion," she said, laughing. "Dear papa, I am delighted to see you! I
was so thankful when I heard you were here! Janet will be ready to eat
her own head now, for not coming."

"Who told you I was here, Bessy?"

"Old Jekyl. He was leaning on his palings as I came by, and called out
the information to me almost before I could hear him. 'The master's gone
to it, Miss Bessy! he is out once again! But he had not on his scarlet,'
the old fellow added; and his face lost its gladness. Papa, the whole
world is delighted that you should have recovered, and be once more
amongst them."

"Not quite recovered yet, Bessy. Getting better, though; getting better.
Thank you, Thomas; the faintness has passed."

"Is not Lady Godolphin here, papa?"

"She must be here by this time. I wish I could see her carriage: you
must get into it."

"I did not come for that, papa," returned Bessy, with a touch of her
warm temper.

"My dear, I _wish_ you to join her. I do not like to see you here on
foot."

"I shall set the fashion, papa," laughed Bessy, again. "At the great
meet next year, you will see half the pretenders of the county toiling
here on foot. I say I am Bessy Godolphin."

The knight ranged his eyes over the motley group, but he could not
discern his wife. Sturdy, bluff old fox-hunters were there in plenty,
and well-got-up young gentlemen, all on horseback, their white cords and
scarlet coats gleaming in the sun. Ladies were chiefly in carriages; a
few were mounted, who would ride quietly home again when the hounds had
thrown off; a very few--they might be counted by units--would follow the
field. Prior's Ash and its neighbourhood was supplied in a very limited
degree with what they were pleased to call masculine women: for the term
"fast" had not then come in. Many a pretty woman, many a pretty girl was
present, and the sportsmen lingered, and were well pleased to linger, in
the sunshine of their charms, ere the business, for which they had come
out, began, and they should throw themselves, heart and energy, into it.

On the outskirts of the crowd, sitting her horse well, was a handsome
girl of right regal features and flashing black eyes. Above the ordinary
height of woman, she was finely formed, her waist slender, her shoulders
beautifully modelled. She wore a peculiar dress, and, from that cause
alone, many eyes were on her. A well-fitting habit of bright
grass-green, the corsage ornamented with buttons of silver-gilt; similar
buttons were also at the wrists, but they were partially hidden by her
white gauntlets. A cap, of the same bright green, rested on the upper
part of her forehead, a green-and-gold feather on its left side
glittering as the sun's rays played upon it. It was a style of dress
which had not yet been seen at Prior's Ash, and was regarded with some
doubt. But, as you are aware, it is not a dress in itself which is
condemned or approved: it depends upon who wears it: and as the young
lady wearing this was just now the fashion at Prior's Ash, feather and
habit were taken into favour forthwith. She could have worn none more
adapted to her peculiar style of beauty.

Bending to his very saddle-bow,