The Shadow of the Lynx Read Online Free PDF Page B

downhill and I did not stop until I stood before the tall wrought-iron gate.
    This gate in itself was fascinating. I studied the intricate scrolls and mouldings; some white metal had been inlaid on the iron work on either side. I looked closer and saw that the decoration represented nuns. White Ladies, I thought; and I wondered whether it was the original gate which had stood there when there was a convent beyond it, long before the present house had been built. The grey stone wall stretched out on either side of the gates. Moss and lichen grew on it.
    How I should have loved to open the gate and walk into those magic precincts. This was more than a passing fancy; it was an urge which I had great difficulty in restraining. But how could one walk into someone’s private house simply because it seemed the most fascinating place one had ever seen! I looked about me-There was a deep stillness
    everywhere. I felt completely alone. I remembered that Stirling had come this way. He would probably have passed this house without noticing it. I had decided that he would be lacking in imagination, and to him this would merely be a grey stone building; he would not think it exciting because centuries ago nuns in white robes had lived here. I wondered what it felt like to be shut away from the world; and I was suddenly interested and relieved to find that my thoughts had turned temporarily from my personal tragedy.
    The wall was frustratingly high and as I walked along beside it I could only see the tower projecting above it. The view from the hilltop was much more revealing—only from that vantage point there was a sense of remoteness. Here one might be closer but the wall shut one out.
    It seemed strange that when I was on the verge of going to a new country I should be so intrigued by an old house which I had never seen before and it seemed unlikely I should ever see again. Perhaps it was because I had been indifferent to everything for so long that I seized on this and believed I was more interested than I actually was.
    As I walked, beside the wall I heard voices.
    “Ellen has brought out the tea, Lucie.” It was a clear high voice, very pleasant and I longed to see its owner.
    “I will see if Lady Cardew is ready,” said another voice, deeper, slightly husky.
    They went on talking but their voices were lowered and I could not hear what they were saying. What sort of people, I wondered, lived in this house? I must discover. I was in such a strange mood that I had almost convinced myself that if I could see on the other side of the wall I would find two white-robed nuns—ghosts from the past.
    An enormous oak tree spread its branches over the walls. Its acorns would surely fall on Whiteladies’ land. I studied the tree speculatively. I had not climbed a tree for some time. Such activities had not been encouraged at Danesworth House; but there was a fork which would make an adequate if not comfortable seat. I could not climb a tree. It was too undignified. Besides, what bad manners to spy on people. I fingered the soft silk scarf which my father had given me before he went to Australia; it was a soft shade of green and I loved it for itself in addition to the fact that it was one of his last gifts. I am sure he would have climbed the tree. Miss Emily would be horrified. That decided me—particularly
     
    as 1 hearu uie voices again.
    “Are you feeling better. Mamma?” That was the clear young voice.
    So I climbed to the fork of the tree which was just high enough to permit me to see over.
    It was a beautiful scene. The grass was like green velvet, soft and smooth with an air of having been well tended through the centuries;
    there were flower beds containing roses and lavender; a fountain was throwing its silver spray over a white statue; the green shrubs had been cut into the shape of birds; a peacock strutted across the lawn displaying his magnificent tail while a plain little peahen followed in his glorious wake. It was a