World’s End

slipped out of the house thinking to watch Agnes’ progress through The Towers by the light she carried, which would show which rooms she went into. It fell out exactly as she had supposed⁠—she saw the light of the little lamp flit about from window to window and along the corridors, now disappearing from sight entirely, and now suddenly flickering out again, till at last it stopped in what Violet well knew was the Blue Room. This room was so called from the colour employed in decorating the walls. They were painted instead of being papered, much in the same style as the houses at Pompeii, only in larger panels, and the ground colour was blue. From the lawn in front of the house Violet could just see Agnes seated at a table in this room, and before her was a small desk⁠—a desk she had often noticed in that room, thinking how incongruous a plain gentleman’s writing-desk, with brass handles, looked amidst the elegant furniture and decorations.

Out of this desk Agnes was taking what, at that distance, Violet could only conjecture were letters, and burning them one by one in the flame of the lamp.

Presently she paused, and Violet saw her kiss something which looked like a curl of chestnut hair. Then not fancying her self-imposed task of watching her benefactress, and convinced that there was no danger, Violet stole away.

Agnes was, in fact, destroying her memorials of Walter De Warren, which she had kept in his own desk in the room in which she had last seen him alive. She had determined to cast aside all remembrance of him; his memory should not embarrass her in the course she would pursue. Freed from the slightest control by him, she thought that she would be the better able to choose between the earthly and the immortal destinies offered to her. Yet she still lingered, still hesitated. She could not say to Marese “I will,” nor could she say “I will not.” She permitted his money to be used in freeing her estate of encumbrance, and this gave him a moral claim upon her hand. After that was done, it seemed to her that the spirit who visited her at “The Pot” visibly frowned, and the great eyes were full of reproach.

What was this feeble earthly glory to that which was offered to her in the sky? She had chosen wrongly, contrary to the spirit of the proud and ambitious Lechesters; she was acting in opposition to the traditions of her race. Marese, after all, was a lowborn upstart. The ancestry of the spirit had no beginning and no end. Again she hesitated.

About this time there came a letter from Miss Merton, dated Torquay, written in a formal but polite manner, begging to be informed what she had better do with the dog Dando. She did not wish to get rid of him⁠—she had become quite attached to the dog and he to her⁠—but she was not the actual owner, and she did not like the responsibility of having so valuable an animal with her.

It seemed as if the value of the dog was well known, for at least two deliberate attempts had been made to steal it within a few days. And these attempts had not a little alarmed Miss Merton. To find that her steps were watched and followed by a wild-looking tramp, or tinker fellow, bent upon carrying off the dog was, to say the least, extremely unpleasant.

The man⁠—an ill-looking fellow⁠—was always about the house, and would not go away. He played a tin whistle, and whenever the dog heard some peculiar notes, he became greatly excited, and began to dance about in a curious manner. Not only that, but if the tramp varied the tune in some way, then the dog grew frantic to run after him, and twice she had the utmost difficulty to recover him.

What was she to do? She did not like to part with the dog, and yet really it was very awkward.

Violet in reply asked Miss Merton to send her Dando. She had now got over her prejudice against him and felt that her anger had been unjust. She should like to have him back again. As to the tramp, she was not surprised, for she remembered that her poor father had bought the dog, when quite young, from a band of strolling gypsies, and there were certain tunes which had always excited him to dance and frisk about as if he had been trained to do so.

Violet, of course, asked Lady Lechester’s permission, whose reply was that she should be glad to have the dog; there was plenty of room for him, and he would be company, and add to the safety of the somewhat lonely Towers. Violet herself thought that it would be a great advantage if Dando should happen to please Agnes’ fancy; he might be allowed to accompany her in her lonely dark walks, and would be some protection.

A week afterwards Dando came, and at once recognised Violet. He had grown considerably larger, and was a fine, noble animal.

As Violet had hoped, Agnes took a great fancy to him, and the dog returning it, they became inseparable companions. This relieved Violet of much of her anxiety.

V

A fortnight after Dando’s establishment at The Towers, Aymer came. He looked ill, pale, and careworn, and at once announced that he had left Mr. Broughton, and was going to London, literally to seek his fortune.

The monotony had at last proved too much for him, and worse than that was the miserable thought that, after all this work and patience, he was no nearer to Violet. Perhaps after ten or fifteen years of unremitting labour, nine-tenths of which time must be spent at a distance from her, he might, if his health lasted and no accident happened, be in receipt of one hundred and fifty pounds per annum; and how much more forward would he be then?

Not all