SSR220AC-8 companion like Lady Knollys is reassuring

with which I anticipated the hour of one, and the disclosure of the unknown undertaking1 to which I had bound myself, was irrational3 and morbid4. But, honestly, I doubt it; my tendency has always been that of many other weak characters, to act impetuously, and afterwards to reproach myself for consequences which I have, perhaps, in reality, had little or no share in producing.

 

It was Doctor Bryerly’s countenance5 and manner in alluding6 to a particular provision in my father’s will that instinctively7 awed9 me. I have seen faces in a nightmare that haunted me with an indescribably horror, and yet I could not say wherein lay the fascination10. And so it was with his — an omen11, a menace, lurked12 in its sallow and dismal13 glance.

 

“You must not be so frightened, darling,” said Cousin Monica. “It is foolish; it is, really; they can’t cut off your head, you know: they can’t really harm you in any essential way. If it involved a risk of a little money, you would not mind it; but men are such odd creatures — they measure all sacrifices by money. Doctor Bryerly would look just as you describe, if you were doomed14 to lose 500l., and yet it would not kill you.”

 

A companion like Lady Knollys is reassuring15; but I could not take her comfort altogether to heart, for I felt that she had no great confidence in it herself.

 

There was a little French clock over the mantelpiece in the school-room, which I consulted nearly every minute. It wanted now but ten minutes of one.

 

“Shall we go down to the drawing-room, dear?” said Cousin Knollys, who was growing restless like me.

 

So down-stairs we went, pausing by mutual16 consent at the great window at the stair-head, which looks out on the avenue. Mr. Danvers was riding his tall, grey horse at a walk, under the wide branches toward the house, and we waited to see him get off at the door. In his turn he loitered there, for the good Rector’s gig, driven by the Curate, was approaching at a smart ecclesiastical trot17.

 

Doctor Clay got down, and shook hands with Mr. Danvers; and after a word or two, away drove the Curate with that upward glance at the windows from which so few can refrain.