By the Spark It was a cold and gloomy Christmas Eve.The mass of cloud overhead was almost impervious to such daylight as still lingered on;the snow lay several inches deep upon the ground,and the slanting downfall which still went on threatened to considerably increase its thickness before the morning.The Prospect Hotel,a building standing near the wild north coast of Lower Wessex,looked so lonely and so useless at such a time as this that a passing wayfarer would have been led to forget summer possibilities,and to wonder at the commercial courage which could invest capital,on the basis of the popular taste for the picturesque,in a country subject to such dreary phases.That the district was alive with visitors in August seemed but a dim tradition in weather so totally opposed to all that tempts mankind from home.However,there the hotel stood immovable;and the cliffs,creeks,and headlands which were the primary attractions of the spot,rising in full view on the opposite side of the valley,were now but stern angular outlines,while the townlet in front was tinged over with a grimy dirtiness rather than the pearly gray that in summer lent such beauty to its appearance.
Within the hotel commanding this outlook the landlord walked idly about with his hands in his pockets,not in the least expectant of a visitor,and yet unable to settle down to any occupation which should compensate in some degree for the losses that winter idleness entailed on his regular profession.So little,indeed,was anybody expected,that the coffee-room waiter--a genteel boy,whose plated buttons in summer were as close together upon the front of his short jacket as peas in a pod--now appeared in the back yard,metamorphosed into the unrecognizable shape of a rough country lad in corduroys and hobnailed boots,sweeping the snow away,and talking the local dialect in all its purity,quite oblivious of the new polite accent he had learned in the hot weather from the well-behaved visitors.The front door was closed,and,as if to express still more fully the sealed and chrysalis state of the establishment,a sand-bag was placed at the bottom to keep out the insidious snowdrift,the wind setting in directly from that quarter.
The landlord,entering his own parlour,walked to the large fire which it was absolutely necessary to keep up for his comfort,no such blaze burning in the coffee-room or elsewhere,and after giving it a stir returned to a table in the lobby,whereon lay the visitors'book--now closed and pushed back against the wall.He carelessly opened it;not a name had been entered there since the 19th of the previous November,and that was only the name of a man who had arrived on a tricycle,who,indeed,had not been asked to enter at all.
While he was engaged thus the evening grew darker;but before it was as yet too dark to distinguish objects upon the road winding round the back of the cliffs,the landlord perceived a black spot on the distant white,which speedily enlarged itself and drew near.The probabilities were that this vehicle--for a vehicle of some sort it seemed to be--would pass by and pursue its way to the nearest railway-town as others had done.But,contrary to the landlord's expectation,as he stood conning it through the yet unshuttered windows,the solitary object,on reaching the corner,turned into the hotel-front,and drove up to the door.
It was a conveyance particularly unsuited to such a season and weather,being nothing more substantial than an open basket-carriage drawn by a single horse.Within sat two persons,of different sexes,as could soon be discerned,in spite of their muffled attire.
The man held the reins,and the lady had got some shelter from the storm by clinging close to his side.The landlord rang the hostler's bell to attract the attention of the stable-man,for the approach of the visitors had been deadened to noiselessness by the snow,and when the hostler had come to the horse's head the gentleman and lady alighted,the landlord meeting them in the hall.
The male stranger was a foreign-looking individual of about eight-and-twenty.He was close-shaven,excepting a moustache,his features being good,and even handsome.The lady,who stood timidly behind him,seemed to be much younger--possibly not more than eighteen,though it was difficult to judge either of her age or appearance in her present wrappings.
The gentleman expressed his wish to stay till the morning,explaining somewhat unnecessarily,considering that the house was an inn,that they had been unexpectedly benighted on their drive.Such a welcome being given them as landlords can give in dull times,the latter ordered fires in the drawing and coffee-rooms,and went to the boy in the yard,who soon scrubbed himself up,dragged his disused jacket from its box,polished the buttons with his sleeve,and appeared civilized in the hall.The lady was shown into a room where she could take off her snow-damped garments,which she sent down to be dried,her companion,meanwhile,putting a couple of sovereigns on the table,as if anxious to make everything smooth and comfortable at starting,and requesting that a private sitting-room might be got ready.The landlord assured him that the best upstairs parlour--usually public--should be kept private this evening,and sent the maid to light the candles.Dinner was prepared for them,and,at the gentleman's desire,served in the same apartment;where,the young lady having joined him,they were left to the rest and refreshment they seemed to need.
That something was peculiar in the relations of the pair had more than once struck the landlord,though wherein that peculiarity lay it was hard to decide.But that his guest was one who paid his way readily had been proved by his conduct,and dismissing conjectures,he turned to practical affairs.
