WYLDER'S HAJVD.
87
just passed under the brilliant lights, together with an
unpleasant sense of apprehension. I suspect that Wylder
and Lake, too, felt something of the same ominous qualm,
for I thought their faces looked gloomy in the light, as
they stood together buttoning their loose wrappers and
lighting their cigars.
With a "good night, good night,'' we parted, and I
heard their retreating steps crunching along the walk that
led to Redman's Hollow, and by Miss Rachel's quiet hab-
itation. I heard no talking, such as comes between whiffs
with friendly smokers, side by side; and, silent as mutes
at a funeral, they walked on, and soon the fall of their
footsteps was heard no more, and I re-entered the hall and
shut the door. The level moonlight was shining through
the stained heraldic window, and fell bright on the por-
trait of Uncle Lome, at the other end, throwing a patch
of red, like a stain, on one side of its pale forehead.
I had forgot, at the moment, that the ill-omened portrait
hung there, and a sudden horror smote me. I thought of
what my vision said of the " blood upon my forehead,"
and, by Jove ! there it was!
At this moment the large white Marseilles waistcoat of
grave Mr. Larcom appeared, followed by a tall powdered
footman, and their candles and business-like proceedings
frightened away the phantoms. So I withdrew to my
chamber, where, I am glad to say, I saw nothing of Uncle
Lome.
Miss Lake, as she drove that night, toward Gylingden,
said little to the Vicar's wife, whose good husband had
been away to Friars, making a sick-call, and she prattled
on very merrily about his frugal little tea awaiting his
late return, and asked her twice on the way home wheth-
er it was half-past nine, for she did not boast a watch;
and in the midst of her prattle was peeping at the land-
marks of their progress.