At Last - Page 152/170

A haughty and uncontrollable gesture from the husband succeeded in

diverting the offender's notice to himself for one instant--not

more. But in that flash he detected a shade of difference in the

expression that irked him; a ray, that was inquiry, sharp and eager,

tempered by compassion, yet still contemptuous.

All this passed in less time than it has taken me to write a line

descriptive of the pantomime. The mound was shaped, and the

decorously mournful train turned from it to retrace their course to

the house, Frederic Chilton imitating the example of those about

him, but moving like a sleep-walker, his brows corrugated and eyes

sightless to all surrounding objects. He had awakened when the

Ridgeley carriage drove to the door. Mrs. Sutton detained Mabel in

one of the upper chambers to concert plans for a visit to the

homestead while the Dorrances should be there. Aunt and niece had

not met since the arrival of the latter in Virginia, a fortnight

before, the elder lady being in constant attendance upon Mrs.

Tazewell.

"This is very stupid! And I am getting hungry!" said Mrs. Aylett,

aside to her lord, as she stood near a front window, tapping the

floor with her feet, while vehicle after vehicle received its load

and rolled off. "We shall be the last on the ground. Herbert! can't

you intimate to Mabel that we are impatient to be gone?"

"I don't know where she is!" growled the brother, for once

non-complaisant to her behest, and not stirring from the chair in

the corner into which he had dropped at his entrance.

His head hung upon his breast, and he appeared to study the lining

of his hat-crown, balancing the brim by his forefingers between his

knees. Mrs. Aylett had lowered her veil in the burying-ground or on

her way thither, but it was a flimsy mass of black lace--richly

wrought, yet insufficient to hide the paleness of the upper part of

her visage. Mr. Aylett watched and wondered, with but one definite

idea in his brain beyond the resolve to ferret out the entire

mystery in his stealthy, taciturn fashion. Herbert Dorrance had

been, in some manner, compromised by his association with this

Chilton, had reason to dread exposure from him, and his sister was

the confidante of his guilty secret.

"I shall know all about it in due season," thought the master of

himself and his dependents.

Not that he meant to extort or wheedle it from his consort's

keeping, but he had implicit faith in his own detective talents.

"Here she is at last!" he said, when Mabel came down the staircase,

holding Aunt Rachel's hand, and talking low and earnestly, her noble

face and even gliding step a refreshing contrast to Mrs. Aylett's

nervousness and Herbert's dogged sullenness.