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Updated: June 17, 2025
"That door is usually closed, and ought to be kept so," interrupted Marston, drily; "there is nothing whatever to be seen in the room but dust and cobwebs." "Pardon me," said Sir Wynston, more easily, "you forget the view from the window."
Aye, couldst thou but see with those cunning eyes of thine, but twelve brief hours into futurity, each syllable that falls from that good man's lips unheeded would peal through thy heart and brain like maddening thunder. Hearken, hearken, Sir Wynston Berkley, perchance these are the farewell words of thy better angel the last pleadings of despised mercy! The party broke up.
"By-the-by, Dick, this is rather a nervous topic for me to discuss," said Sir Wynston. "How so?" asked his host. "Why, don't you remember?" urged the baronet. "No, I don't recollect what you allude to," replied Marston, in all sincerity. "Why, don't you remember Eton?" pursued Sir Wynston. "Yes, to be sure," said Marston. "Well?" continued his visitor.
We must now pass over an interval of a few days, and come at once to the arrival of Sir Wynston Berkley, which duly occurred upon the evening of the day appointed. The baronet descended from his chaise but a short time before the hour at which the little party, which formed the family at Gray Forest were wont to assemble for the social meal of supper.
And as he revolved these doubts from time to time, and as he thought of Mademoiselle de Barras's transient, but unaccountable embarrassment at the mention of Rouen by Sir Wynston an embarrassment which the baronet himself appeared for a moment to reciprocate undefined, glimmering suspicions of another kind flickered through the darkness of his mind.
Charles now felt it necessary to see his father, for the purpose of letting him know the substance of the letter respecting "mademoiselle" and the late Sir Wynston which had reached him. Accordingly, he proceeded, accompanied by Doctor Danvers, on the next morning, to the hotel where Marston had intimated his intention of passing the night.
Why, good God, what has happened?" cried Charles, aghast with horror. "Sir Wynston," commenced the man, and hesitated. "Well?" pursued Charles, pale and breathless. "Sir Wynston he it is he," said the man. "He? Sir Wynston? Is he dead, or who is? Who is dead?" demanded the young man, almost fiercely. "Sir Wynston, sir; it is he that is dead.
Animated by these amiable feelings, Sir Wynston Berkley sate down, and wrote the following short letter, addressed to Mrs. Gray, Wynston Hall: "Mrs. Gray, "On receipt of this have the sitting rooms and several bedrooms put in order, and thoroughly aired.
"I did not think of it, sir," replied the man, "the gentlemen were asking me so many questions; but I told you, sir, about it in the morning." "Oh, ah yes, yes I believe you did," said Marston; "but you then said that Sir Wynston often talked when he was alone; eh, sir?" "Yes, sir, and so he used, which was the reason I did not go into the room when I heard it," replied the man.
"Yes," said Marston, looking gloomily into the fire, as if he saw, in its smoke and flicker, the phantoms of murdered time and opportunity; "but I hate looking back, Wynston. The past is to me but a medley of ill-luck and worse management."
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