The Shadow of Ashlydyat

The great black Shadow, stretching out there in the distance, had attracted the attention of Lord Averil. He stood with his forefinger extended, pointed towards it.

"That is what they call the Shadow of Ashlydyat," quietly replied Thomas G.o.dolphin.

Lord Averil had never before seen it. He had heard enough of it.

Attentively regarding it, he did not for some time speak.

"Do you believe in it?" he asked at length.

"Believe in it?" repeated Thomas G.o.dolphin. "I believe that a Shadow does appear there on occasions. I cannot believe otherwise, with that ocular demonstration before me."

"And how do you account for it?" asked Lord Averil.

"I have been all my life trying to do so. And have come to the conclusion that it is not to be accounted for."

"But I have always treated the report as the most perfect folly,"

rejoined Lord Averil.

"Ay. No doubt. As I should do but for _that_"--and Thomas G.o.dolphin nodded towards the Shadow, on which the peer's eyes were fixed with an intense gaze. "You and I are rational beings, Averil, not likely to be led away by superst.i.tious folly; we live in an enlightened age, little tolerant of such things. And yet, here we stand, gazing with dispa.s.sionate eyes on that Shadow, in full possession of our sober judgment. It is there; we see it: and that is all we can tell about it.

The Shadow of Ashlydyat is ridiculed from one end of the county to the other: spoken of--when spoken of at all--as an absurd superst.i.tion of the G.o.dolphins. But there the Shadow is: and not all the ridicule extant can do away with the plain fact. I see it: but I cannot explain it."

"What do you do about it?"

Lord Averil asked the question in his bewilderment. A smile crossed Thomas G.o.dolphin's lips as he answered.

"We do nothing. We can do nothing. We cannot prevent its coming; we cannot send it away when it comes; we cannot bring it if it does not come of its own accord. If I reason about it for a month, Averil, I could give you no better explanation than this."

Lord Averil drew a deep breath, as one awaking from a reverie. As Thomas G.o.dolphin said: _there_ was the Shadow, visible to his eyes, his senses: but of explanation as to its cause, there was none. The little episode had driven away the impulse to speak of Cecil: and, after another hand pressure, he finally turned away, and pursued his walk to Prior's Ash.

Another was also pursuing his walk to Prior's Ash; indeed, had nearly gained it; and that was Thomas G.o.dolphin's messenger. Approaching the Bank residence, he distinguished some one standing at the entrance, and found that it was Mr. George G.o.dolphin.

"What's this?" asked George. "A letter?"

"My

George turned it about in his hand. "Does it require an answer, do you know, Andrew?"

"No, sir. My master said I need not wait."

The man departed, and George carried the note into the dining-room.

Maria sat there reading, underneath the chandelier. She looked pleased to see her husband, and closed the book. George had been out all the evening. He stood opposite to Maria, and tore the note open.

"DEAR GEORGE,

"Lord Averil's bonds are in his case in the strong-room. How could you make so great a mistake as to tell him they had gone up to town? I send you word, lest he should call for them in the morning before I reach the Bank.

"Ever yours, "THOMAS G.o.dOLPHIN."

Then the disclosure must come! With a word, that was very like a groan, George crushed the paper in his hand. Maria heard the sound.

"What is it, George?"

"Nothing. What? This? Only a note from Thomas."

He began whistling lightly, to cover his real feelings, and took up the book Maria had closed. "Is it entertaining?" asked he, turning over its pages.

"Very. It is a charming book. But that I had it to read, I should have been lying on the sofa. I have a very bad headache to-night."

"Go to bed," responded George.

"I think I must. Perhaps you will not care to come so early?"

"Never mind me. I have an hour or two's work to do in the Bank to-night."

"Oh, George!"

"My dear, it need not keep you up."

"George, I cannot _think_ how it is that you have night-work to do!" she impulsively exclaimed, after a pause. "I am sure Thomas would not wish you to do it. I think I shall ask him."

George turned round and grasped her shoulder, quite sharply. "Maria!"

His grasp, I say, was sharp, his look and voice were imperatively stern.

Maria felt frightened: she scarcely knew why. "What have I done?" she asked, timidly.

"Understand me, please, once for all. What I choose to do, does not regard my brother Thomas. I will have no tales carried to him."

"Why do you mistake me so?" she answered, when she had a little recovered her surprise. "It cannot be well for you, or pleasant for you, to have so much work to do at night, and I thought Thomas would have told you not to do it. Tales! George, you know I should never tell them of you."

"No, no; I know you would not, Maria. I have been idle of late, and am getting up my work; that's all: but it would not do to let Thomas know it. You--you don't tell Isaac that I sit up at the books?" he cried, almost in an accent of terror.

She looked up at him wonderingly, through her wet eyelashes. "Surely, no! Should I be likely to speak to Isaac of what you do? or to any one?"

George folded her in his arms, kissing the tears from her face. "Go to bed at once, darling, and sleep your headache off," he fondly whispered.

"I shall be up soon; as soon as I can."

He lighted her candle and gave it to her. As Maria took it, she remembered something she wished to say to him. "When will it be convenient to you to give me some money, George?"

"What for?"

"Oh, you know. For housekeeping. The bills are getting so heavy, and the tradespeople are beginning to ask for their money. The servants want their wages, too. Would it not be better to pay regularly, as we used to do, instead of letting things run on so long?"

"Ay. I'll see about it," replied George.

George had got into the habit of giving the same answer, when asked by his wife for money. She had asked several times lately; but all the satisfaction she received was, "I'll see about it." Not a suspicion that his means were running short ever crossed her brain.

She went upstairs and retired to rest, soon falling asleep. Her head was heavy. The household went to bed; George shut himself into the Bank--according to his recent custom; and the house was soon wrapped in quiet--as a sober house should be.

Two o'clock was striking from All Souls' clock when Maria awoke. Why should she have done so?--there was no noise to startle her. All she knew--and it is all that a great many of us know--was, that she did awake.