Far away from all known places, in the northern limit of the Craven district, on the borders of Westmoreland but in Yorkshire, there stands a large rambling most picturesque old house called Grex.
The people around call it the Castle, but it is not a castle. It is an old brick building supposed to have been erected in the days of James the First, having oriel windows, twisted chimneys, long galleries, gable ends, a quadrangle of which the house surrounds three sides, terraces, sundials, and fish-ponds. But it is sadly out of repair as to be altogether unfit for the residence of a gentleman and his family. It stands not in a park, for the land about it is divided into paddocks by low stone walls, but in the midst of lovely scenery, the ground rising all round it in low irregular hills or fells, and close to it, a quarter of a mile from the back of the house, there is a small dark lake, not serenely lovely as are some of the lakes in Westmoreland, but attractive by the darkness of its waters and the gloom of the woods around it.
This is the country seat of Earl Grex,--which however he had not visited for some years. Gradually the place had got into such a condition in his absence was not surprising. An owner of Grex, with large means at his disposal and with a taste for the picturesque to gratify,--one who could afford to pay for memories and who was willing to pay dearly for such luxuries, might no doubt restore Grex, but the Earl had neither the money nor the taste.
Lord Grex had latterly never gone near the place, nor was his son Lord Percival fond of looking upon the ruin of his property. But Lady Mabel loved it with a fond love. With all her lightness of spirit she was prone to memories, prone to melancholy, prone at times almost to seek the gratification of sorrow. Year after year when the London season was over she would come down to Grex and spend a week or two amidst its desolation. She was now going to a seat in Scotland belonging to Mrs Montacute Jones called Killancodlem; but she was now passing a desolate fortnight in company with Miss Cassewary. The gardens were let,--and being let of course were not kept in further order than as profit might require. The man who rented it lived in the big house with his wife, and they on occasions as this would cook and wait upon Lady Mabel.
Lady Mabel was at the home of her ancestors, and the faithful Miss Cass was with her. But at the moment and at the spot at which the reader shall see her, Miss Cass was not with her. She was sitting on a rock about twelve feet above the lake looking upon the black water; and on another rock a few feet from her sat Frank Tregear.
'No,' she said, 'you should not have come. Nothing can justify it.
Of course, as you are here I could not refuse to come out with you. To make a fuss about it would be the worst of all. But you should not have come.'
'Why not? Whom does it hurt? It is a pleasure to me. If it be the reverse to you, I will go.'
'Men are so unmanly. They take such mean advantages. You know it is a pleasure to me to see you.'
'I had hoped so.'
'But it is a pleasure I ought not to have,--at least not here.'
'That is what I do not understand,' said he. 'In London, where the Earl could bark at me if he happened to find me, I could see the inconvenience of it. But here, where there is nobody but Miss Cass--'
'There are a great many others. There are the rooks and stones and old women;---all of which have ears.'
'But of what is there to be ashamed? There is nothing in the world to me so pleasant as the companionship of old friends.'
'Then go after Silverbridge.'
'I mean to do so;--but I am taking you by the way.'
'It is all unmanly,' she said, rising from her stone; 'you know that it is so. Friends! Do you mean to say that it would make no difference whether you were here with me or Miss Cass?'
'The greatest difference in the world.'
'Because she is an old woman and I am a young one, and because in intercourse between young men and young women there is something dangerous to the woman and therefore pleasant to the man.'
'I never heard anything more unjust. You cannot think I desire anything injurious to you.'
'I do think so.' She was still standing and spoke now with great vehemence. 'I do think so. You force me to throw aside the reticence I ought to keep. Would it help me in my purpose if your friend Lord Silverbridge knew that I was here?'
'How should he know?'
'But if he did? Do you suppose that I want to have visits paid to me of which I am afraid to speak? Would you dare tell Lady Mary that you had been sitting alone with me on the rocks at Grex?'
'Certainly I would.'
'Then it would be because you have not dared to tell her certain other things which have gone before. You have sworn to her no doubt that you love her better than all the world.'
'I have.'
'And you have taken the trouble to come her to tell me that,--to wound me to the core by saying so; to show me that though I may still be sick, you have recovered,--that is if you ever suffered!
Go your way and let me go mine. I do not want you.'
'Mabel!'
'I do not want you. I know you will not help me, but you need not destroy me.'
'You know that you are wronging me.'
'No! You understand it all though you look so calm. I hate your Lady Mary Palliser. There! But if by anything I could do I could secure her to you I would do it,--because you want it.'
'She will be your sister-in-law,--probably.'
'Never. It will never be so.'
'Why do you hate me?'
'There again! You are so little of a man that you can ask me why!' Then she turned away as though she intended to go down to the marge of the lake.
But he rose up and stopped her. 'Let us have this out, Mabel, before we go,' he said. 'Unmanly is a heavy word to hear from you, and you have used it a dozen times.'
'It is because I have thought it a thousand times. Go and get her if you can,--but why tell me about it?'
'You said you would help me.'
'So I would, as I would help you do anything you might want; but you can hardly think that after what has passed I can wish to hear about her.'
'It was you spoke of her.'