Three crows with flapping wings settled
at dusk upon the terrace wall and called to him as he passed. A vase of
quaint workmanship, brought from the East Indies by his brother,
Barbara's father, split suddenly in twain, and Sir John trembled as with
an ague at so sure a premonition of evil as this. There were moments
when he could not bear to be shut in a room, when the confinement
between four walls seemed to stifle him, and like a half suffocated man
he would stagger on to the terrace and gasp for breath.
He promised Mrs. Dearmer that next week he would go with her to town,
and all that day he tried to prove that he was not dull. The effort was
successful until the evening, and then came the feeling of suffocation
and the need for deep draughts of air. With a muttered excuse he left
his guests to their play and laughter, and hurried to the terrace.
The night was still, not a breeze stirred in the trees, and the light of
a young moon was upon the terrace, casting faint, motionless shadows
over greensward and stone flags. For a little while Sir John stood
looking down into the stream, which seemed asleep to-night. Upon it the
shadows quivered, but scarce a ripple of music came from underneath its
banks.
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