"Oh, now, never mind your observation," said Louis. "That"s only an excuse. Do that to-morrow night. Now you will stay. It is settled.
Viviette, say he must stay, and we"ll have another hour of these charming intellectual researches."
Viviette obeyed with delightful ease. "Do stay, Mr St. Cleeve!" she said sweetly.
"Well, in truth I can do without the observation," replied the young man, as he gave way. "It is not of the greatest consequence."
Thus it was arranged; but the researches among the tomes were not prolonged to the extent that Louis had suggested. In three-quarters of an hour from that time they had all retired to their respective rooms; Lady Constantine"s being on one side of the west corridor, Swithin"s opposite, and Louis"s at the further end.
Had a person followed Louis when he withdrew, that watcher would have discovered, on peeping through the key-hole of his door, that he was engaged in one of the oddest of occupations for such a man,--sweeping down from the ceiling, by means of a walking-cane, a long cobweb which lingered on high in the corner. Keeping it stretched upon the cane he gently opened the door, and set the candle in such a position on the mat that the light shone down the corridor. Thus guided by its rays he pa.s.sed out slipperless, till he reached the door of St. Cleeve"s room, where he applied the dangling spider"s thread in such a manner that it stretched across like a tight-rope from jamb to jamb, barring, in its fragile way, entrance and egress. The operation completed he retired again, and, extinguishing his light, went through his bedroom window out upon the flat roof of the portico to which it gave access.
Here Louis made himself comfortable in his chair and smoking-cap, enjoying the fragrance of a cigar for something like half-an-hour. His position commanded a view of the two windows of Lady Constantine"s room, and from these a dim light shone continuously. Having the window partly open at his back, and the door of his room also scarcely closed, his ear retained a fair command of any noises that might be made.
In due time faint movements became audible; whereupon, returning to his room, he re-entered the corridor and listened intently. All was silent again, and darkness reigned from end to end. Glanville, however, groped his way along the pa.s.sage till he again reached Swithin"s door, where he examined, by the light of a wax-match he had brought, the condition of the spider"s thread. It was gone; somebody had carried it off bodily, as Samson carried off the pin and the web. In other words, a person had pa.s.sed through the door.
Still holding the faint wax-light in his hand Louis turned to the door of Lady Constantine"s chamber, where he observed first that, though it was pushed together so as to appear fastened to cursory view, the door was not really closed by about a quarter of an inch. He dropped his light and extinguished it with his foot. Listening, he heard a voice within,--Viviette"s voice, in a subdued murmur, though speaking earnestly.
Without any hesitation Louis then returned to Swithin"s door, opened it, and walked in. The starlight from without was sufficient, now that his eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, to reveal that the room was unoccupied, and that nothing therein had been disturbed.
With a heavy tread Louis came forth, walked loudly across the corridor, knocked at Lady Constantine"s door, and called "Viviette!"
She heard him instantly, replying "Yes" in startled tones. Immediately afterwards she opened her door, and confronted him in her dressing-gown, with a light in her hand. "What is the matter, Louis?" she said.
"I am greatly alarmed. Our visitor is missing."
"Missing? What, Mr. St. Cleeve?"
"Yes. I was sitting up to finish a cigar, when I thought I heard a noise in this direction. On coming to his room I find he is not there."
"Good Heaven! I wonder what has happened!" she exclaimed, in apparently intense alarm.
"I wonder," said Glanville grimly.
"Suppose he is a somnambulist! If so, he may have gone out and broken his neck. I have never heard that he is one, but they say that sleeping in strange places disturbs the minds of people who are given to that sort of thing, and provokes them to it."
"Unfortunately for your theory his bed has not been touched."
"Oh, what then can it be?"
Her brother looked her full in the face. "Viviette!" he said sternly.
She seemed puzzled. "Well?" she replied, in simple tones.
"I heard voices in your room," he continued.
"Voices?"
"A voice,--yours."
"Yes, you may have done so. It was mine."
"A listener is required for a speaker."
"True, Louis."
"Well, to whom were you speaking?"
"G.o.d."
"Viviette! I am ashamed of you."
"I was saying my prayers."
"Prayers--to G.o.d! To St. Swithin, rather!"
"What do you mean, Louis?" she asked, flushing up warm, and drawing back from him. "It was a form of prayer I use, particularly when I am in trouble. It was recommended to me by the Bishop, and Mr. Torkingham commends it very highly."
"On your honour, if you have any," he said bitterly, "whom have you there in your room?"
"No human being."
"Flatly, I don"t believe you."
She gave a dignified little bow, and, waving her hand into the apartment, said, "Very well; then search and see."
Louis entered, and glanced round the room, behind the curtains, under the bed, out of the window--a view from which showed that escape thence would have been impossible,--everywhere, in short, capable or incapable of affording a retreat to humanity; but discovered n.o.body. All he observed was that a light stood on the low table by her bedside; that on the bed lay an open Prayer-Book, the counterpane being unpressed, except into a little pit beside the Prayer Book, apparently where her head had rested in kneeling.
"But where is St. Cleeve?" he said, turning in bewilderment from these evidences of innocent devotion.
"Where can he be?" she chimed in, with real distress. "I should so much like to know. Look about for him. I am quite uneasy!"
"I will, on one condition: that you own that you love him."
"Why should you force me to that?" she murmured. "It would be no such wonder if I did."
"Come, you do."
"Well, I do."
"Now I"ll look for him."
Louis took a light, and turned away, astonished that she had not indignantly resented his intrusion and the nature of his questioning.
At this moment a slight noise was heard on the staircase, and they could see a figure rising step by step, and coming forward against the long lights of the staircase window. It was Swithin, in his ordinary dress, and carrying his boots in his hand. When he beheld them standing there so motionless, he looked rather disconcerted, but came on towards his room.
Lady Constantine was too agitated to speak, but Louis said, "I am glad to see you again. Hearing a noise, a few minutes ago, I came out to learn what it could be. I found you absent, and we have been very much alarmed."
"I am very sorry," said Swithin, with contrition. "I owe you a hundred apologies: but the truth is that on entering my bedroom I found the sky remarkably clear, and though I told you that the observation I was to make was of no great consequence, on thinking it over alone I felt it ought not to be allowed to pa.s.s; so I was tempted to run across to the observatory, and make it, as I had hoped, without disturbing anybody. If I had known that I should alarm you I would not have done it for the world."
Swithin spoke very earnestly to Louis, and did not observe the tender reproach in Viviette"s eyes when he showed by his tale his decided notion that the prime use of dark nights lay in their furtherance of practical astronomy.