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Aldyth heard a step on the shingle, but not till she turned rather suddenly, remembering that she had several cottages to visit that afternoon, did she see Clara. The girls came face to face within a few feet of each other. Aldyth moved by with a bow and the words:
"A lovely afternoon, is it not?"
"Very," responded Clara, coolly.
She was annoyed that Aldyth passed without saying more.
"She need not avoid me as if I had the plague," she said to herself.
She looked after Aldyth with a dislike that was born of envy. Aldyth in her simple serge suit and little felt hat looked such a lady that for a moment Clara hated her new adornments, and felt that they were gaudy and vulgar.
She wandered rather drearily by the river. In summer, when boating was general, its banks presented a lively scene; but now there were few boats out, the sunlight had faded, and a grey mist was beginning to gather over the distant marshes. Clara hardly knew how to fill up the time till she might expect John Glynne to be on his way home. She went back into the High Street and made a large purchase of sweetmeats at the chief confectioner's. Then a thought struck her. A road branched off from the Hundreds into the Longbridge Road. Mr. Glynne would very likely return to his lodgings by that. How annoying if she missed him after all! There was nothing for it but to walk as far as the junction of the two roads, and she started at once, much fearing she might be too late.
She walked briskly, but ere she had reached the turning into the Longbridge Road, she saw the individual she was anxious to meet. Could anything be more provoking? He was not one. He had alighted from his bicycle and was walking by the side of a lady. Could it be—yes—actually it was—Aldyth Lorraine!
There she was walking by Mr. Glynne's side on the quiet country road, and he was talking so earnestly to her that, despite the crimson hat, Clara had almost passed ere he saw her, and then he clutched mechanically at his cap, without seeming to have any clear notion to whom he was bowing.
Aldyth had seen her. Clara felt sure that she coloured as she met her glance, and no wonder.
Clara was scandalized. That Aldyth should be walking with Mr. Glynne in that lonely part of the road was shocking to her, though assuredly had Mr. Glynne overtaken her when she was there alone, she would not have hesitated to walk back to Woodham with him.
Aldyth Lorraine, who was so good and proper! Who would believe it? Of course it was a planned thing. Aldyth had seen him go down the Hundreds, she had waited about and come down that road for the chance of seeing him. Or else they had arranged to meet. Perhaps there was some secret understanding between them. It became increasingly clear to Clara that such must be the case, as, full of jealous rage and mortification, she walked on, it being impossible to turn back and show that she had been pursuing that road without a purpose.
After a few minutes, Clara ventured to look round. The straight, level road was visible for some distance. The two she wished to watch had almost reached the cottages. Ah, yes, they would part now. He was remounting his bicycle; he was off, and Aldyth was left walking alone.
There was a gleam of malicious satisfaction in Clara's eyes as she hastened back to Woodham by the Longbridge Road. It brought her out at the head of the High Street within a stone's throw of the dwelling of her amiable relative, Miss Tabitha Rudkin. Clara remembered that she had not visited her aunt for many days. She would call on her now; she had something to tell the old lady that would be sure to interest her.
Miss Rudkin's reception of her grand-niece was never gracious. Her greeting was generally a string of reproaches for past neglect.
"You don't mean to say it is you, Clara?" she exclaimed, with affected surprise. "I began to think I should never see you again. It would be a poor thing for me if I depended on you to comfort and cheer me. I am sure it is a month since you were here."
"Well, I'm here now, any way," said Clara, in a matter-of-fact tone, debating with herself how quickly she could impart her intelligence and make her escape. "How is your cough, aunt?"
"Much you care about my cough!" retorted her aunt. "What's that thing you have on your head? Another new hat! Dear! Dear! Your father need be rich to support your extravagance."
After a little of this delightful intercourse, Clara came to her point by saying, "By the by, aunt, have you seen your friend Stephen lately?"
"Of whom do you speak in that disrespectful way?" demanded Miss Rudkin.
"Oh, you know," returned Clara, coolly, "Mr. Stephen Lorraine."
"I cannot see that it concerns you whether or not I have seen Mr. Lorraine."
"No?" said Clara, indifferently. "Well, perhaps not. I only wanted to know whether he had told you of Aldyth's engagement."
"Aldyth's engagement! Aldyth Lorraine engaged! Who says so?" asked the old woman eagerly.
"I say so," boldly replied Clara; "I met her just now with Mr. Glynne down in the Hundreds, and if they are not engaged, I do not know what to think. You ask old Stephen, when next you see him, if Aldyth is not engaged to Mr. Glynne."
"I shall ask him no such question. Mr. Glynne, indeed! She is to marry Guy."
"So you've said before; but I do not believe it," returned Clara. "Of course I only know what I saw this afternoon, but that is enough for me."
She laughed gleefully as she spoke. She believed that she was getting Aldyth into a scrape, and the thought revived her spirits. She bade her aunt good-bye, and left her to ponder the matter. She had not a doubt that what she had said about Aldyth would be repeated to Aldyth's grand-uncle.
An hour later, Aldyth, as she sat drinking tea with her aunt, said quietly: "I went down the Hundreds this afternoon to see old Adam Drake. You know he likes me to call once a month for his club money. As I was coming back, Mr. Glynne overtook me on his bicycle. He got off and walked a little way with me. He has had bad news from home. His sister is ill, and they are afraid it is scarlet fever."
"Scarlet fever!" exclaimed Miss Lorraine, in dismay. "What a trouble that will be for poor Mrs. Glynne!"
"Yes; he seems very troubled on her account," said Aldyth; "and he is afraid it may prevent his going home for Christmas."
"I should not wonder," said Miss Lorraine. "He must run no risk of infection. And if he is wise, he will keep the matter to himself. The very mention of scarlet fever by a school master is enough to raise a panic amongst the parents."
"I said something of the kind to him," replied Aldyth with a smile, "and he promised to be prudent. As he was telling me about it, we met Clara Dawtrey, and she stared at me in such an insolent manner, that I felt quite uncomfortable."
"Oh, my dear, you don't mean to say that Clara Dawtrey saw you with Mr. Glynne!" exclaimed Miss Lorraine, in distressed tones. "Then your uncle will hear of it."
"What if he does?" asked Aldyth, drawing herself up, whilst her eyes suddenly flashed with pride. "Do you think I mind that uncle or any one should know that I have been walking with Mr. Glynne?"
GOSSIP AND MISCONCEPTION.
"MOTHER, is it true?" asked Charlie Bland, one afternoon in the following week, as he burst into the dining room, swinging a strapful of books. "Is it true that Mr. Glynne going to marry Aldyth?"
"My dear Charlie!" exclaimed his mother, looking up from her letter-writing in the greatest astonishment. "Whoever told you such a thing?"
"Oh, all the boys are talking about it. Tom Rudkin says he knows it's a fact. And old Glynne is in an awfully jolly temper to-day."
Kitty dropped her novel, and burst into a fit of laughter.
"Oh, you ridiculous creatures!" she exclaimed. "What will you boys conjure up next? You might have known it was not true, Charlie. If Aldyth were engaged, should not we know it as soon as any one at Woodham?"
"Well, I thought it could not be true," he replied, "but Tom Rudkin was so positive."
"Here comes Aldyth," exclaimed Kitty, who was seated in the window. "What fun! I shall ask her what she means by concealing her engagement from us."
Mrs. Bland was looking vexed—too vexed to be amused. Tom Rudkin was Clara Dawtrey's cousin, so it was easy to see in what quarter the report had originated.
"Take care how you tell her, Kitty," she exclaimed, as Kitty rushed to the door. "It will annoy her, I know."
"Talk of an angel, and her wings are heard," said Kitty, laughingly, as she opened the door to her friend.
"You were talking of me? What have you been saying, I wonder?" said Aldyth, as she came in. "Now, Charlie, you must be my friend, and tell me all. What have they been saying about me?"
"That you are engaged to Mr. Glynne," blurted out Charlie.
Aldyth looked amazed for a moment, then her face flushed.
"Oh, Charlie! How can you?" cried Kitty. "We never said that, I'm sure. It was your astonishing piece of news."
"What does he mean?" asked Aldyth, looking from one to the other in embarrassment.
"You must not mind it, Aldyth, dear," said Mrs. Bland, kindly. "I do believe boys are as fond of gossip as old maids. He has just brought us that surprising piece of intelligence from school."
"Tom Rudkin declared it was true," said Charlie, sturdily.
"After that, my declaration that it is not will go for nothing, I am afraid," said Aldyth, trying to laugh off her vexation, which was evidently great. "I wish people would not be so wise concerning me."
"It is most annoying to have such things said," observed Kitty. "Really, Woodham is a most detestable place for gossip."
"Come, come, child!" said her mother. "Don't run down your native place. All little towns are pretty much the same, as far as gossip is concerned."
"Of course it is easy to see who started this report," she added, as Charlie disappeared from the room. "It originated over the way, no doubt."
"That horrid old Tabitha!" exclaimed Kitty. "She is the bane of the town. She ought to have been born a century earlier, when she might have been drowned as a witch! Ne that I should wish her to be drowned: but, you know, there really is something witch-like about her."
Aldyth could not help laughing at Kitty's ideas respecting Miss Rudkin.
"It's Clara Dawtrey's doing," Aldyth said. "She met me the other day walking with Mr. Glynne. That was foundation enough for this fabrication. Oh, dear! I should like to tell her what I think of it. But it would do no good."
"No, no!" said Mrs. Bland. "The best way is to take no notice, and let the report die a natural death."
The talk turned to other matters; but Mrs. Bland could see that throughout her visit, Aldyth's mind was dwelling on the unpleasant fact she had learned. Mrs. Bland was sorry for her, and indignant with Clara Dawtrey. She knew that nothing is more trying for a girl, nothing more prejudicial to her happiness, than to have her name thus coupled with that of a gentleman whose friendship she values.
Two evenings later Kitty came in from attending a meeting of the Woodham Sewing Club in a state of considerable excitement.
"What is the matter, Kitty?" asked her mother, for Kitty's face was crimson, her eyes sparkling, and she burst into the room in a way which showed no respect for the nerves of those who occupied it.
Hilda, who had been dreaming rather than reading as she sat by the fire, looked up with a startled face.
"Oh, nothing," said Kitty, calming down as she saw the surprise she was causing; "nothing, except that I have had it out with Clara Dawtrey, and prevented her from telling any more stories about Aldyth."
"Kitty!" exclaimed Hilda. "Have you? Oh, do tell us!"
"Well, Clara, if you please, was at the meeting to-night. It is not often she troubles herself to attend. She was helping Mrs. Rayner to give out the work, and Miss Phipps was there too. The girls had gone, and we were putting things away when I saw their heads all close together, and heard Aldyth's name. Miss Clara did not mean me to hear, but I caught a word or two, and I spoke out at once, and said there was not an atom of truth in the report that Aldyth was engaged to Mr. Glynne. I looked straight at Clara, and said that I believed the report had originated with her; would she kindly tell me from whom she had received the information? You should have seen how taken aback she looked! She turned as red as possible, and could only say she was sure she thought it was true, or she would not have repeated it.
"'As an intimate friend of Aldyth's, I can assure you,' I said, 'that she is engaged to no one, and it is preposterous that such a thing should be said. I shall be obliged if you will contradict it, if you hear it again.'"
"Oh, Kitty!" exclaimed Hilda, with admiration in her tones; but Mrs. Bland looked uneasy.
"I do not wonder that you spoke so, Kitty," she said, "but I doubt, my dear, if it were wise."
"Oh, I do not believe in letting people say just what they like," replied Kitty. "Anyhow, I've killed that rumour; but I dare say a fresh one will be started, for Miss Phipps began to say that she had always understood Aldyth was to marry her cousin."
"Poor Aldyth!" exclaimed Mrs. Bland, whilst Hilda hastily took up her book, to hide the hot colour that was mounting in her cheeks. "Why will people talk about her so?"
"Mother, do you think that Aldyth will marry Guy?" asked Kitty.
"My dear, how can I say whom she will marry? I am no oracle. But I am sure that nothing would better please Stephen Lorraine. And in many respects it would be a good thing for Aldyth."
"Yes, of course," said Kitty, in a comfortable, matter-of-fact tone, "she would be the mistress of Wyndham; she would have plenty of money, and could keep as many horses as she liked; but still I cannot fancy that Aldyth would care to marry Guy."
Kitty quitted the room as she spoke. Hilda bent over her book, apparently absorbed in its pages, but it was long ere the unwonted colour in her cheeks faded.
Needless to say, Kitty's encounter with Clara Dawtrey did not tend to soften the feelings with which that young lady regarded the Blands and their friend.
A few days later, Clara, who occasionally called on Mrs. Greenwood, although the banker's wife did not admit her into the inner circle of her friends, entered that lady's drawing room to find John Glynne there talking to her. Clara was delighted to meet him thus; and immediately began to display all the coquettish airs and graces by which she believed that she rendered herself charming to gentlemen.
Mr. Glynne would have retired after a few minutes, but as he rose, the servant appeared, carrying the tea-tray, and Mrs. Greenwood would not hear of his going before he had taken a cup of tea. Just then other visitors were announced, who engaged Mrs. Greenwood's attention, and Glynne found himself drawn into a talk with Miss Dawtrey. They were seated within the bow-window which commanded the High Street.
Clara, talking rapidly, looked up at her companion with what she believed to be an arch glance, when she perceived that he was paying little attention to what she said. His eyes did not meet hers; they were looking beyond her, down into the street. Clara turned quickly to see what was interesting him there. Her chagrin did not lessen when she saw that Aldyth Lorraine was riding past, accompanied by her cousin. The girl-rider looked trim and graceful in her dark blue habit and little felt hat with white plume.
"Aldyth Lorraine looks well on horseback," remarked Clara, studying Mr. Glynne's countenance with an intentness of which he became uncomfortably aware. "Some people call her pretty. Do you think she is pretty?"
"Really, Miss Dawtrey, that is hardly a fair question," he replied, laughingly. "Is not a gentleman bound to admire every young lady he meets?"
"Oh, that's rubbish," she said. "You can't admire ugly girls. Now, I call Guy Lorraine a very handsome fellow; you don't think so, of course; you men are so jealous of each other; but he is. He ought to have a pretty wife. Of course you know—" She paused, and looked at him significantly.
"Please do not take my knowledge for granted," he said, his heart beating more quickly as he spoke; "do you mean that Miss Aldyth will marry her cousin?"
"Oh, hush!" she said, putting her finger to her lips with a warning look, and then glancing at the other visitors. "I would not have said anything about it, but I made sure you knew."
"But surely—if they are engaged—Is it an engagement?"
"That is an awkward question, Mr. Glynne," said Clara, dropping her eyes. "I do not wish to tell you a story, and I am not at liberty to answer in the affirmative. Though really it is absurd to make a secret of it, for every one at Woodham has known since they were children that Guy and Aldyth were intended for each other. My great-aunt, Miss Rudkin, is in Mr. Stephen Lorraine's confidence, and he has told her that he looks forward to their union. But pray do not repeat what I have said; I should not have told you."
"It is safe with me," he said, quietly.
He was on his guard, and could maintain an air of indifference.
"There has been an absurd fuss lately," said Clara, in a carefully subdued tone, "because a rumour arose that Aldyth was engaged to another gentleman. I understand that she has been most indignant about it, and the Blands call it a preposterous idea. Aldyth is very proud; I suppose it does not please her that her name should be coupled with that of any one save her cousin."
"Naturally," said John Glynne, rising to put down his cup. His tone was cold and hard. With all his self-control, he could not help the colour rising in his face as Miss Dawtrey spoke.
It was impossible that in such a place as Woodham, he should fail to hear what people were saying about him and Miss Aldyth Lorraine. It had annoyed him almost as much as it had annoyed her; but his vexation was entirely on her account. He could not blame himself: He had done nothing that could give colour to such an assertion. He was certain that Clara Dawtrey meant to annoy him by her words. She could not have supposed that he was unaware that it was his name that people had linked to that of Aldyth. But for that he cared not. What stung him in her words was their suggestion that some disdain of him had mingled with Aldyth's indignation. He took his departure hastily, and went back to his lodgings in a depressed frame of mind.
His little sitting room, with its hard, horsehair furniture, its brilliantly coloured pictures, its quaint decorations of seaweed and shells, had never seemed so distasteful and unhomelike as it did to-night. His landlady's shoes had never creaked so horribly as when she was laying on the table his evening meal; the conversational efforts she made in her nasal monotone had never been so tiresome.
So Aldyth Lorraine was to marry her cousin! For he did not for a moment imagine that he was mistaken in the inference he had drawn from Miss Dawtrey's words. Well, it was not surprising, and yet he was surprised. They were so different. What he had seen of Guy Lorraine had led him to regard him with a sort of good-natured contempt. A fine human animal, he had thought him, a clever sportsman, and not without good qualities, but empty-headed and primed with the self-conceit that often accompanies a vacant mind. Aldyth Lorraine, with her intellectual tastes, her delicate perceptions, her exquisite refinement of mind, to share the life of such a man! What had they in common, except their horsemanship and their love of out-of-door life—in Guy's case it could scarcely be termed "love of Nature?"
Having taken his supper hastily and with little appetite, Glynne plunged into work, and tried to banish these thoughts from his mind. After all, it was no concern of his whom Aldyth might choose to marry. And yet—and yet—one thing had been made clear to him by the talk of the gossips—the fact that had he been in a position to contemplate marriage, Aldyth was the girl he would desire to win. Was she making a free choice in the matter? he asked himself with a sudden thrill.
He remembered how she had said, "I am peculiarly bound to defer to Uncle Stephen's wishes." Could it be that she was being forced into this marriage? No; impossible! She was not the woman to marry under compulsion. The words must have referred to her engagement. They were a confirmation of what Miss Dawtrey had said. Glynne's spirits sank lower as he thought this. Vainly he tried to absorb himself in his work; thoughts of Aldyth would come between him and it, and mingling with them came to mind scraps of "Locksley Hall."
"He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force,Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse."
MR. STEPHEN LORRAINE COMES TO AN UNDERSTANDING WITH HIS HEIR.
JOHN GLYNNE would have been surprised could he have known how little Aldyth had enjoyed that ride with her cousin. She had been conscious of something unusual in Guy's manner towards her. He had been more assiduous in his attentions to her than he was wont to be, yet at the same time he had vexed her by contemptuous allusions to John Glynne, and the report that had been circulated in Woodham.
It had become a sore subject with Aldyth, and she was far from appreciating the witticisms in which Guy indulged at her expense. Yet Guy had no intention of annoying her. On the contrary, he meant to try his best to please his cousin. But it was not easy to substitute for the old, free and easy, cousinly intercourse, the new rôle he had taken upon himself. He had not succeeded in his endeavours, and he felt that he had not.
"I shall never be able to do it as I should," he said to himself, as he rode back to Wyndham, after lingering a while in the High Street, in the hope of seeing the Blands. "I wish I had not promised; but Wyndham is worth a sacrifice; though it is hard that a fellow may not choose his own wife." And Guy felt anything but comfortable as he surveyed the position in which he found himself.
A few days earlier Stephen Lorraine had ridden back from Woodham in the worst of humours. He had never accustomed himself to put any kind of restraint on his irritability, and he had no sooner returned, than his household had cause to know that something had "put him out."
Guy, who came into dinner a few minutes late, received his share of his uncle's wrath.
"You will be good enough to remember, sir, that my dinner hour is six. It is doubtless disagreeable to you to conform to my habits; but it cannot be for long now, and I think I have a right to expect that you will pay me that degree of respect."
Happily Guy, who was tolerably easy of temper, did not encourage his uncle's quarrelsome tendency.
"I am sorry to be late, uncle," he said. "I assure you I like my dinner at six; but that fellow Ames detained me. Is there any soup coming for me?"
"I believe so; but if you have any consideration for your throat, you will have nothing to do with it," said the old man, grimly. "Cook evidently considers pepper the chief ingredient in making soup."
"It is rather highly seasoned, certainly," said Guy, as he tasted the soup the servant placed before him. "How did you find things at Woodham? Much as usual, I suppose?"
An impatient sound escaped old Stephen's lips, but he said nothing, and Guy did not pursue the inquiry, though he was full of wonder as to the cause of his uncle's ill-temper. The few carefully-chosen remarks on which he ventured being ungraciously received, Guy finished his dinner in silence. As the dessert was placed on the table, the old man's manner brightened somewhat. He sent for a bottle of special port from the cellar, and having filled his own glass, pushed the black, cob-webbed bottle towards Guy.
"Fill up; you'll find it worth drinking," he said. "It's almost as good as the '54 will prove, I trust, which I am keeping for your wedding."
Guy laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
"Time enough to think of that, sir," he said, lightly.
"Nay, not so," said the old man, with repressed eagerness; "it is time you began to think about it seriously, my lad, if I am to have the pleasure of drinking the health of your pretty bride."
Guy coloured, and fell to studying his wine-glass to hide his embarrassment.
"I should be sorry to think that you would not see my wedding, sir," he replied, with becoming seriousness; "but happily you are a rare man for your years, and will, I trust, see many more, for I am but a young fellow to think of marrying."
"Nonsense," said the old man, sharply; "you are twenty-four, and in your case there is no reason why marriage should be delayed. Now, do not smile, Guy, if you please. I am in earnest, and I wish you to be."
"Certainly, uncle, I will consider what you say; but a fellow can hardly get married at a moment's notice."
"Pshaw! How you talk!" cried old Stephen, impatiently. "One would think you had to go far to seek a bride. Come, sir, do you know what is being said about Aldyth at Woodham? Do you know that the gossips will have it she is going to marry that jackanapes in cap and gown—the fellow who lectures—tush! I've forgotten his name, but you know whom I mean."
Guy had turned a startled look on his uncle, and his face grew a shade paler as he caught the drift of his speech; but he said, coolly—
"Mr. Glynne, you mean. Well, why should not Aldyth marry him if she fancies him?"
"Guy, are you beside yourself? Do you know what you are saying? How dare you suggest that such a marriage would be suitable for Aldyth? A beggarly usher—a fellow of no social position whatever! Would you tamely submit to see her throw herself away upon such an one?"
There was growing passion in the old man's tones. Guy was alarmed, but he took refuge in sulky indifference.
"I do not know what you mean by 'tamely submitting' to it. Of course it would be a pity. I should not admire Aldyth's taste; but I could not interfere in the matter."
"It is absurd for you to affect to misunderstand me," said Stephen Lorraine, growing more angry. "You must know perfectly well that I have always looked forward to your marrying Aldyth."
"Indeed, sir!" said Guy, looking blank. "This is the first time you have acquainted me with the fact."
"You should not have needed information. You might have seen it was the only thing to be thought of."
"But I have never thought of it," said Guy; "and I must confess that I do not like the idea. Aldyth is my cousin."
"Your second cousin," said his uncle.
"Second or first," said Guy, "it is the same. We have grown up together almost like brother and sister. I am fond of Aldyth, but I tell you honestly, sir, I have no wish to make her my wife."
"You will find that it is to your interest to do so," said his uncle, with a calmness born of intense passion. "Listen to me, sir. Aldyth is every whit as dear to me as you are. When I have looked on you as the heir to Wyndham, it has been with the thought that she would share your inheritance. I do not choose to divide my property between you; but neither do I mean that Aldyth should suffer loss. If you resolve to disregard my wish in this matter, I shall have to reconsider the disposition of my property. Now, I have given you fair warning."
Guy heard his uncle with feelings of the utmost dismay. "I don't know about the fairness of the matter," he muttered, then added in a louder tone: "You must allow that this has come upon me very suddenly. It is hard for a man to have it dictated to him whom he is to marry."
"Not at all," interrupted his uncle, "when the girl is such a fair, sweet girl as Aldyth."
"I don't believe she will have me," said Guy, with the air of having hit upon a happy solution of the difficulty. "You will not blame me, uncle, if she refuses me?"
"Yes, I shall," returned old Stephen, grimly. "If she refuses, it will be because you have wooed her in a sorry fashion. You ask her properly, and tell her that I wish it, and she will have you fast enough."
Guy devoutly hoped that his uncle might be mistaken in this belief. But he lacked the courage to withstand him, and boldly claim his right to act as he would in a matter that so closely concerned his happiness. Guy believed that Hilda Bland was the girl who could make him happy; but he was not one to deem the world well lost for love. The heirship of Wyndham was dear to him. Not for any girl's sake could he bear to be disinherited. So he temporized, and drifted into a sort of tacit promise that he would seek to win Aldyth for his wife.
It was with poor spirits that Guy set himself to carry out his purpose. He had little hope that Aldyth would really refuse his brilliant offer. A woman, he told himself in his youthful wisdom, regards marriage from a very different point of view from that of a man. Was it likely that one whose matrimonial chances were so limited and uncertain would reject, in one breath, himself and Wyndham?
But somehow Guy was not very successful in his efforts to act the part of a lover. He found it impossible to convince Aldyth of his sincerity. She would take purely as a joke his pretty speeches and the devoted airs he tried to assume. She laughed at him, and bantered him on what she believed to be mere affectations. The chief result of his endeavours was to raise doubt and jealousy in the mind of Hilda Bland, towards whom his friendliness was marked by strange fluctuations, and who was quick to perceive that Guy was more attentive to his cousin than he had formerly been. One day he would treat Hilda with such apparent indifference that her thoughts would turn with sympathy to Mariana in "The Moated Grange," and she would dream of dying early of a broken heart; then again he suffered himself to be betrayed into the old tenderness of voice and look, and Hilda's heart would beat with tumultuous delight, and life seemed to stretch before her again as a long, bright vista.
Meanwhile, poor Hilda grew daily more dreamy, and unpractical, more neglectful of home duties, more oblivious of all that lay outside the rosy curtains which screened her own inner world of self-conscious emotion. Even Aldyth felt impelled to take her to task sometimes.
"You are getting lazy, Hilda," she exclaimed one day when she was at Mrs. Bland's, and heard Hilda refuse to carry a soup ticket to a poor woman whom Mrs. Bland was desirous of helping.
Kitty, who was present, had at once volunteered to do the errand, and was now buttoning her boots by the fire.
"Oh, it is really too cold to go out this morning," said Hilda, lounging in her easy-chair by the fire, with her pretty little feet on the fender. "Kitty does not mind the cold, but I hate to go out before I have had time to get thoroughly warm."
"There is one kind of poetry Hilda does not appreciate," remarked Kitty—"the poetry of motion."
"And she has yet to learn that one should occasionally sacrifice one's own inclinations for the sake of helping others," said her mother, in rather a severe tone, as she quitted the room.
As soon as she was alone with her friend, Hilda burst into tears.
"That is always the way now," she said. "Mother is for ever finding fault with me. Kitty is her favourite daughter, and nothing that I do is right."
"Nonsense, Hilda," said Aldyth; "you fancy such things. I do not believe Mrs. Bland has a favourite, but Kitty is of course a great help to her."
"Yes; but then Kitty likes doing all sorts of things," said Hilda, vaguely. "She is so different from me. I do not get any sympathy from her. She laughs at my love of poetry; and as for mother, I am sure she grudges me the time I give to self-improvement. I suppose she wishes I were like Kitty, who scarcely ever reads anything except a novel."
"Now you are wronging your mother," said Aldyth, quickly. "I am sure she was very pleased that you and I should study together for the lectures. But talking of novels, what were you doing when I came in? Is not that a novel I see in your lap?"
"Certainly it is," said Hilda, "but such a novel!" And she held up "Romola" to view.
"Ah! That is a grand book," said Aldyth; "terribly sad, yet as true as it is sad. I can never lose the impression made on me by its revelation of the slow but sure decline into evil of Tito—so bright, and lovable, and unsullied as we see him at first that we love him almost as Romola does, and share the bitterness of her disappointment."
"Yes, it is very sad," said Hilda; "but what a splendid woman Romola is. I have just been reading how she devoted herself to those poor people dying of the pestilence. They might well take her for the Madonna. Oh, to go amongst the poor and suffering like that would be a life worth living; I often wish that I could be trained as a nurse, but mother would never hear of my leaving home. It is horrid to live in a place like Woodham, where there is nothing to be done."
"Only some poor people to be visited and supplied with soup tickets," said Aldyth, mischievously.
Hilda coloured. "Oh, that is nothing," she said.
"It is only a small thing, certainly," said Aldyth. "But I think the small duties may prepare us for great ones, if we should ever be called to undertake them. 'He that is faithful in that which is least, is faithful also in much.' But, Hilda, I had no idea that you had any leaning towards a nurse's vocation. I should have thought that kind of work would not have been at all to your taste."
"Perhaps not," said Hilda, looking piqued; "but you do not know all the thoughts that I have."
And she said to herself that Aldyth understood her no better than did her mother and sister.
There was a pause, then Hilda asked, "Are you going to ride to-day?"
"No," said Aldyth. "Guy has gone to Colchester, but he proposes that we should all have a ride on Saturday—you on Brown Bess. You feel quite comfortable on her now, do you not?"
"Yes, indeed, I am not a bit afraid of her now," said Hilda, her face lighting up with pleasure. "I shall enjoy another ride. And oh Aldyth, what do you think? Mother says we may have a party on my twenty-first birthday. Won't that be lovely? Mind you keep yourself disengaged for the twenty-third."
"No doubt of that," said Aldyth. "Parties are not so numerous at Woodham that I am likely to have another invitation for that date. I will tell Guy to keep himself free, for I suppose you mean to invite him?"
"I dare say mother will send him an invitation," said Hilda, demurely. Then she laughed. "Perhaps he will not care to come; but I do hope it will be a nice party. Mother talks of sending out fifty invitations."
"Your parties always are nice," said Aldyth. "And this is the mother with whom you are not a favourite! Oh, Hilda, Hilda! You do not deserve to have such a mother."
As the days passed by and Christmas drew near, the proposed party in honour of Hilda's attaining her majority became a matter of absorbing interest to the three girls—an interest which, when the invitations had been issued, was shared by many others at Woodham.
Would Mr. Glynne accept or decline? Was there any possibility of his remaining at Woodham for Christmas? Aldyth could not answer these questions. She knew that Mr. Glynne's sister was recovering from her fever, but whether her convalescence had advanced to such a stage as to render it safe for him to return home for the holidays, she could not say. Somehow during the last few weeks, John Glynne had fallen out of the habit of paying frequent visits to Miss Lorraine's cottage; nor had the Blands seen much of him of late. But the examinations were taking place at the Grammar School. It was a busy time for the masters; there was no difficulty in accounting for the fact that Mr. Glynne had little leisure to bestow upon his friends.
HILDA BLAND'S PARTY.
THE party given in honour of Hilda's coming of age was an evening party of the good old-fashioned sort. Mrs. Bland's guests began to arrive about seven, and they knew that they were expected to retire shortly after midnight. The dining room was given over to the young people, who had planned some tableaux vivants for the entertainment of the company. The older and graver guests gathered in the drawing room. Supper was to be served in the breakfast room, part of the hall being curtained off cleverly as an addition to its limited space.
The evening passed brightly away. The tableaux proved a grand success. Kitty persuaded John Glynne, who was present, to take part in them, and his perfect self-control and remarkable immobility of feature made him a valuable addition to the actors. The tableaux in which he appeared as Charles VII., whilst Kitty made a spirited-looking Joan of Arc, was the most successful of the series. Sundry amusements succeeded to the tableaux, and no one looking on the gay, animated scene could have imagined that care lurked in a single bosom there.
Hilda, the heroine of the occasion, looked charming, attired in white with a necklace of pearls, her mother's gift, adorning a throat scarcely less milky in hue. Her slight form, in its snowy drapery, had a fairylike prettiness, and her mother might be pardoned if her eyes sometimes rested upon this fair daughter with looks of pride.
Hilda wore, pinned to her gown, a bunch of Christmas roses and azaleas, and her delight in these flowers, which Guy had sent her with his congratulations, was unbounded till she saw that a lovely cluster of Maréchal Niel roses adorned Aldyth's black lace bodice, and knew that they also were a gift from Guy. The sight of them caused her a throb of pain, and with it came a dreadful presentiment that the evening to which she had looked forward with such eager anticipation was to yield her only pain and disappointment.
As the evening passed on, Aldyth became aware that Guy was paying but slight attention to Hilda, whilst, rather to her annoyance, she found him constantly beside herself. What did it mean? Had any misunderstanding arisen between him and Hilda? If so, it was a pity, for Aldyth, who had the sympathetic insight of a loving soul, could see that Hilda, though she did her best to maintain a gay demeanour, was not really enjoying herself. She felt certain that she should hear the truth, sooner or later, from Guy, who was to stay the night at Miss Lorraine's. Meanwhile she made an attempt to rid herself of his unwelcome attentions.
"Nonsense, Guy," she said, when he came to ask her hand for a dance. "I am sure you would rather have Hilda for your partner. Why do you keep aloof from her to-night, of all nights? Surely you two have not quarrelled?"
Guy coloured and looked confused.
"I have danced once with Hilda," he said. "Politeness does not require more."
Aldyth was amazed. Then they must have had a quarrel. But she said no more, knowing that words are worse than useless in such cases.
There could be no doubt that Kitty was having a good time, and Miss Lorraine, whose capacity for enjoying such gatherings did not wane with advancing years, entered into the fun with scarcely less zest. She was an excellent performer of cheerful music, and she sat at the piano playing one lively air after another, pausing only to instruct the young folk as to the manner in which the old country dances should be executed.
Aldyth was conscious of some wonder that she herself did not find the evening more enjoyable. She was not over fond of dancing, and she soon wearied of the heat and bustle. Aldyth had rather a poor opinion of the young men of Woodburn, and this evening's experience did not raise it. She felt impatient of the vapid talk of some who engaged her in conversation, whilst John Glynne remained at a distance. She would have liked to talk with him, but he apparently had nothing to say to her.
Later in the evening, Aldyth, thoroughly wearied, slipped into the drawing room. Mrs. Bland welcomed her with a smile. Old Captain Clear, a retired naval officer, and one of the oldest inhabitants of Woodham, came across the room to ask her if it were possible that she was already weary.
She saw John Glynne at the further end of the room, playing at chess with Mr. Greenwood. As she watched them, he made a move which checkmated his adversary. Then he rose to make way for another player. His eyes fell on Aldyth, and he came down the room, as it seemed to her, with the intention of addressing her. But ere he reached her side, he suddenly halted, and began to study a Swiss view hanging on the wall, and at the same moment Aldyth, not without some secret irritation, heard Guy's voice beside her.
"So here you are at last, Aldyth. I have been hunting for you everywhere. What made you come in here?"
"I was tired, Guy. I do not wish to be there any longer: All right; then we'll stay here," he said, and seated himself by her side with an air of proprietorship which was not lost upon one person present.
Guy thought he was acting his part well that evening. It cost him something to keep away from Hilda, and he took credit to himself for thus sacrificing his inclinations. He had received some powerful hints from his uncle with respect to this party.
Old Stephen Lorraine had suggested that it was Guy's duty to provide some choice flowers for Aldyth to wear. He was not responsible for the fact that his suggestion had also conveyed to Guy's mind the idea of a birthday bouquet for Hilda, for of that he knew nothing.
Guy had been given to understand that his courtship was proceeding too slowly, and that his uncle would expect to hear something decisive by the beginning of the New Year. So he was trying to bring himself to make the necessary sacrifice of his happiness; and, strange to say, it never occurred to him that he had no right to sacrifice also the happiness of another, and that the action he contemplated might possibly have that result.
At midnight the guests began to depart. Mr. Glynne and the Greenwoods were amongst the first to go; Miss Lorraine, and consequently Aldyth, stayed to the very end. The elder lady was fresh as a flower and full of talk to the last. She stood on the doorstep saying good-night to friends, and Aldyth, just within the hall, was hastily fastening her fur-lined cloak when Guy detained her.
He had caught a rosebud falling from her gown.
"See, Aldyth, I shall keep this," he said; "it is precious to me since you have worn it."
"Oh, please don't be ridiculous," said Aldyth, conscious, as he was not, that Hilda stood within hearing, half-screened by the heavy curtain that had been drawn across the hall.
But Guy had his back towards the curtain. Having secured the flower, he laid his hand on Aldyth's cloak, saying, with an air of solicitude, as he drew it more closely about her, "Are you sure this is enough? It is a very cold night."
"Oh, really, Guy!" cried Aldyth, making a dash at the door, and then turning to utter a general "good-night" to those who yet lingered in the hall. As she did so, she caught sight of Hilda peeping round the curtain, her face white as her gown, her eyes full of trouble.
"Evidently they have fallen out," she thought; "and Guy, silly fellow, is trying to make her jealous by devoting himself to me. But how absurd of Hilda to let it trouble her for a moment!"
And Aldyth walked on quickly, feeling out of humour with Guy.
"Don't be in such a hurry, Aldyth," he said, and made an attempt to draw her hand within his arm; but Aldyth found that she required both hands for the management of her gown. "I scarcely ever get you to myself now."
Aldyth laughed in a way most suitors would have found discouraging.
"We see as much of each other as most cousins do," she said, the next minute, in the most matter-of-fact tone.
"Do you never think of me except as a cousin?" he asked.
"Why, no," said Aldyth, in as cold a tone as before. "I cannot say that I do. Why should I?"
"Aldyth," he said, quickly, "it is unkind to answer me so. You must know that I care very much how you think of me."
She looked at him in amazement; but the light of the clear frosty night did not enable her to read his face.
"Really, Guy," she said, "don't you think you have carried this nonsense far enough? Hilda is not here to be piqued by your pretended devotion to me."
"Pretended devotion! What can make you say that?" said Guy. "I do not know why you should bring in Hilda's name; it is you I desire to please. My happiness depends on my winning your love."
"Guy!"
"Why should you be so surprised, Aldyth? You must know that I love you, and that uncle and every one believes that we shall be married."
"Indeed!" said Aldyth, in a strange hard tone. "How long has it been so, I wonder? Was it uncle suggested the idea to you, Guy?"
"What do you mean, Aldyth? Of course it is my own wish."
"Oh, it is satisfactory to know that," replied Aldyth in a cold tone, not without a touch of sarcasm. "But uncle has spoken to you on the subject?"
"Why, yes, he has," answered Guy, at a loss what to say. "He told me how much he wished it."
"And it is at his dictation that you honour me with this expression of his and your wish?" persisted Aldyth.
"Well, yes—no—I should not put it in that way," faltered Guy; "I wish it very much indeed, Aldyth."
"I dare say," replied his cousin, coldly. "Uncle has a way of making other people's wishes concur with his own. But, Guy, I should have thought you would have been too manly to yield to him in such a matter as this. Perhaps you think there is no harm in asking a woman to marry you whom you do not love; but I can tell you, I look on the words you have spoken to me to-night as little less than an insult."
"An insult! Aldyth, what a word to use! And I do love you; you know I do."
"As a cousin, perhaps; but not as a husband should love his wife. Guy, do you think I have been blind to all that has been going on between you and Hilda Bland? Do you suppose I cannot see that her society has more attraction for you than mine?"
For a moment Guy was at a loss how to reply. He was confused and irritated under the consciousness that Aldyth understood him too well. He had hoped that she would reject him, yet now that she did so, he was vividly conscious of the annoying consequences that must ensue for him, and felt an obstinate desire to change her mind.
"You need not be jealous of Hilda," he began, but Aldyth checked him indignantly.
"How can you say such a thing? I 'jealous of Hilda,' indeed! You mistake me utterly if you think I could entertain such a feeling for a moment."
"Then I hope you will believe how much I care for you, and say that you will be my wife. Nothing would please uncle more; he told me to tell you so."
"As if that could make any difference," said Aldyth, impatiently.
"But you have always been anxious to please uncle," remarked Guy, feebly. "You gave up the lectures at his wish."
"Do you think the cases are parallel?" asked Aldyth, with scorn in her tone. "I will endeavour to please uncle in all that is right; but I will not do wrong for the sake of him or any one, and I should be doing a great wrong if I consented to marry you, feeling towards you as I do."
"You cannot love me?"
"Not in that way, certainly," replied Aldyth. "Please say no more about it, Guy. It is quite out of the question."
"Uncle will be very angry," said Guy.
"Let him be angry," said Aldyth, warmly. "And, Guy whatever you do, never try to make love to me again."
They were at the gate. Miss Lorraine stood at the open door looking for them. They hurried up the path and went inside. Guy lingered in the hall, divesting himself of his overcoat. Aldyth lighted her bedroom candle at once.
"You must be tired, auntie," she said; "we will talk it over to-morrow—good-night, Guy."
And she went up stairs without saying snore.
A bright little fire had been kindled in her room. Aldyth threw off her cloak and sat down before the fire. Her mind was in a confusion of shame and indignation, and a pain she could not understand. It was horrid of Guy to say what he had. He might have known better. Her face burned as she thought of the indignity she had received. She felt keenly annoyed both with Guy and with her great-uncle.
"But it can never be," she said to herself. "Uncle cannot settle that for me. Thank God, no one can force me into a marriage. Marry Guy! Never! I would rather die! Nothing shall make me marry a man I cannot love and reverence. I will content myself with no union that falls short of my ideal of what marriage should be. Rather than that I will remain single all my life. I am not afraid of being an old maid like auntie. Hers is by no means an unhappy life."
Here Aldyth's eyes, looking upwards, met the glance of her mother looking down on her from the portrait on the mantelshelf. The next minute a mist of tears dimmed Aldyth's vision.
"If only she were here, I could tell her," she murmured. "I shrink from speaking of it to auntie, but to mother it would be so different. I know she would feel as I do about it. One can always be sure of one's mother."
CHRISTMAS AT WYNDHAM.
ONE of Aldyth's chief thoughts when she woke in the morning was that the morrow would be Christmas Day, and that she and her aunt were to dine, as usual, at Wyndham Hall. The prospect was far from agreeable to her. She was too annoyed with Guy to wish to see him again so soon, and she dreaded that her uncle might make some attempt to persuade her to do as he wished. She knew too well the iron strength of his will to suppose that he would easily resign himself to the frustration of his hopes.
But though Aldyth felt that it would be intensely unpleasant to have any words with him on the subject, she had no fear that anything her uncle might say could move her. She, too, was a Lorraine, and was not to be lightly coerced. She was certain that her feelings towards Guy could never change. Nothing could make it right for her to marry him; no argument could convince her of the contrary.
"I will do everything I can to please uncle," she said to herself; "but this is impossible. Mother could never wish this."
Christmas Day after all passed more pleasantly than Aldyth expected. She went to church with her aunt in the morning, and on coming out of church they walked a few steps with the Blands and Mr. Glynne, whom Mrs. Bland had invited to dine with her family. Hilda seemed out of spirits, and Aldyth fancied there was a difference in her friend's manner towards her. The thought made her uncomfortable. She hoped Hilda would never know of Guy's foolish conduct with regard to herself.
"She would be so hurt," thought Aldyth; "and, after all, he cares far more for her than for me. But I wish she did not think so much of him, for I doubt if he really deserves her love."
Soon after Aldyth and her aunt returned from church, the carriage arrived to take them to Wyndham. Miss Lorraine thought it strange that Guy had not come up to Woodham to fetch them. But Guy was otherwise engaged. He had had the forethought to invite his friend Captain Walker to come from Colchester to spend Christmas Day at Wyndham. He had given the invitation without consulting his uncle, and Mr. Lorraine was secretly annoyed at the introduction of this guest into the family party, though his pride would not suffer him to withhold from the captain a hospitable welcome.
To Aldyth the presence of Captain Walker was a relief. It made it easy for her to meet Guy as if nothing had happened. The long evening passed not unpleasantly for her. The captain was musical; he had brought his violin, and he was thoroughly happy as he accompanied Aldyth's playing on the piano. The same could not be said of the others who were present.
Stephen Lorraine was incapable of appreciating music, and he did not like the way in which Captain Walker monopolized his young niece. Guy had refrained from telling his uncle that Aldyth had rejected him; but old Stephen's keen eyes saw enough that evening to convince him that the matter was not progressing as he wished. He could hardly control his impatience, and Miss Lorraine grew uneasy as she observed the dark ill-humour that was settling on his countenance, and the irritable tones in which he addressed Guy.
That young gentleman was not slow to perceive that a storm was brewing; but he hoped to avoid having any words with his uncle that night. Aldyth and her aunt were to pass the night at Wyndham. When they had retired, Guy and his friend bade Mr. Lorraine "Good-night," and went off to the former's "den" for a smoke.
Guy congratulated himself that he had managed well; but there had been a peculiar grimness in his uncle's tone as he bade him "Good-night" which augured ill for the time when they should have to come to an understanding. Guy thought he had succeeded in deferring that evil hour at least till the morrow; but when, about midnight, having conducted his friend to his room, he was on his way to his own at the extreme end of the corridor, he perceived a stream of light radiating the darkness from his uncle's door, which stood ajar, and, as he approached it, heard his name called in sharp tones—
"Guy, Guy!"
"Yes, sir," said Guy, pushing back the door.
"It is not so late but that you can spare me a few minutes. Come in, if you please, and shut the door. I have something to say to you."
Guy, with a disagreeable prevision of what was coming, did as he was told.
His uncle, wrapped in an old red dressing-gown, his velvet cap still on his head, sat in a high-backed chair by the fire. The candles burning on the mantelshelf threw their light on his face, and showed it more yellow, sunken, and furrowed than it appeared by daylight.
Guy stood at the other side of the fire-place, tall and erect, looking down on him.
"Take a chair, can't you?" said the old man, irritably.
Guy drew up a chair.
"I want to know," said his uncle, going at once to the point, "whether anything is yet settled between you and Aldyth?"
"Yes, sir," said Guy, "it is so far settled that Aldyth has declined to be my wife."
"You have asked her, and she has refused you?"
"In the most decided manner. It is out of the question, she says."
Old Stephen's brow darkened.
"Bah! You have done your wooing badly," he said. "You must not take any notice of that. The next time you ask her, she will respond differently."
"I cannot ask her again," said Guy.
"Cannot! You must, I tell you."
"Excuse me, sir," said Guy. "She has told me the thing is impossible; she has even said that she regards my proposal as an insult. After that I cannot repeat it."
"Ah, you have let her see that you are a half-hearted suitor," said the old man, shrewdly. "That will never do. You must manage better next time."
"There can be no next time," said Guy, his temper and courage rising together. "To please you, I have asked my cousin to marry me, but since she refuses, I now claim a right to choose a wife for myself."
"And whom would you choose, pray?" asked his uncle, regarding him with a narrow, penetrating glance. "Come, tell me, for I can see you have some one in your mind."
Guy hesitated; but having dared so much, it seemed to him that he might as well dare all. Perhaps if he showed some spirit, and made it clear that he was determined to do as he liked, his uncle would yield to the inevitable.
"You are right, sir," he said. "Since Aldyth has refused me, I will own that Hilda Bland is the girl I should like to make my wife."
"Hilda Bland! That white-faced girl, hardly bigger than a full-sized doll! What folly!" exclaimed Stephen Lorraine, his indignation blazing forth at this confirmation of his suspicion. "Let me hear no more of this, Guy. Hilda Bland is, not one whom I could think of as the mistress of Wyndham."
Guy's face grew hot. He naturally resented his uncle's remarks. An angry reply rushed to his lips, but the mention of Wyndham checked it. Here was a thought that bid him pause.
"If you knew Hilda better, uncle, you would appreciate her more highly," he said, forcing himself to speak, calmly. "It is hard that you will not think of my happiness."
"I do think of your happiness, and I think of Aldyth's also," said his uncle, significantly. "You can, of course, make Hilda your wife, if you choose, but she will not be the mistress of Wyndham."
Guy had risen, and stood looking blankly at his uncle.
"Yes," said the old man, "I mean it. There is no need to say more. You understand me now. Good-night."
"Good-night," said Guy, mechanically, as he turned away, having received a poor preparation for a night's rest. He felt that he was being very hardly treated. It was characteristic of him that one effect of his uncle's opposition was to intensify his desire to wed Hilda. Another consequence of his present embarrassment was that he was beginning to feel towards Aldyth something like dislike in place of his old cousinly affection for her.
The remembrance of the words she had uttered, and the scorn she had been unable to conceal when he made his proposal, rankled in his mind, and he told himself that nothing should ever induce him to approach the subject with her again. And now his uncle's words respecting Wyndham had suggested a jealous dread of the old man's affection for Aldyth. Did they not mean that in the event of his marrying Hilda, Aldyth would be made heiress of Wyndham? Was ever the course of true love more blocked and barred? Guy did not doubt that his was a case to which the familiar quotation might be aptly applied.
Stephen Lorraine was content to visit his chagrin solely upon Guy. His manner towards Aldyth could not have been kinder than it was on the following day. He was indeed never really cross with her. The very sight of her seemed to charm away his ill-humour, and he was at his best when she was present. In spite of the strain to which it was often subjected, Aldyth had a genuine affection for her grand-uncle, and never failed to show him the tender reverence youth owes to age, so it was little wonder she exercised a softening influence on him.
The morning was clear and cold. A silvery rime sparkled on the grass and on the bare boughs of the trees; the pond was frozen so hard that skating seemed a near possibility; the tame birds fluttered to and fro before the house, eagerly picking up the crumbs scattered for them on the hard, glittering gravel. It was just the morning for a walk, and at a hint from her uncle, Aldyth ran to put on her strong boots, and the cosy sealskin jacket and cap which had been his present to her on the previous Christmas.
Old Stephen, fresh and ruddy despite his four-score years, minded the cold no more than a young man. Followed by his dogs, he made the round of the grounds with Aldyth, inspected the stables, and visited the stack-yard and farm buildings, which were at some distance from the Hall. She asked questions which drew forth long explanations from him; he pointed out sundry improvements he intended making, talking of his plans with the freedom of one who knows he has an interested listener. He told Aldyth much that she had heard before; but she was willing to listen to it again, especially when he began to go back, as old men are wont to do, to his early days and tell her tales of his boyhood, mingled with recollections of the mother whom it was evident he had tenderly loved.
"The old place looks well to-day," he remarked, as, returning by a side walk through the shrubbery, they came in view of the house shining in the full radiance of the morning sun; "there can be no place like it for me. Boy and man, I've known it for eighty years. There are not many men, I imagine, as old as I am, who can say they have lived in the same house all their days."
"No, indeed," said Aldyth, to whom such an unvarying experience seemed by no means desirable.
"My father and his father lived here before me," continued her uncle. "I should be sorry to think of any but Lorraines dwelling under that roof. Aldyth, I hope you will never change your name. I have always looked forward to your making your home at Wyndham some day."
Aldyth coloured hotly. Listening to talk of the kind familiar to her from her uncle, she had forgotten her dread of his touching upon this subject. She longed to say something that should make him understand how impossible was the idea he cherished, but no suitable words suggested themselves.
They entered the house by one of the drawing room windows which stood open. A fire had been kindled in the grate, and lent a little cheer to the melancholy, forsaken-looking room, with its faded drab furniture. There were no curtains to the windows; the room was guiltless of drapery of any kind, and lacked all the pretty, dainty decorations with which a lady adorns her sitting room. Old Stephen, glancing round, seemed suddenly to become aware of the barrenness and inelegance.
"Ah," he said, with an air of regret, "it was a pretty room once, but now it wants a little refurbishing badly. Somehow, only a woman seems to understand what a room requires to make it look right. And there has been no mistress at Wyndham since she passed away, and that's nigh upon fifty years now."
He pointed, as he spoke, to the portrait of his mother, hanging above the mantelshelf—a handsome, motherly woman, in the high mob-cap and snowy kerchief worn by matrons of her day. Aldyth had often looked at the picture of her great-grandmother, but she turned her eyes on it again with unfeigned interest.
"She was a good woman," he continued, his voice a little husky. "I should like to think that Wyndham would have another such mistress. She looked well to the ways of her household, and ate not the bread of idleness. Sometimes I fancy I see a resemblance to her in you, Aldyth. Well, well, if Guy wins a wife worthy to succeed her, she shall make what changes she likes in the old house. This room shall be refurnished for her, and made a pretty room again."
Aldyth's heart beat quickly. She was touched and pained, and at a loss what to say.
"Dear uncle," she said, hurriedly, "I am sure it would pain you to turn out the old furniture you have known all your life."
"Maybe it would," he admitted; "but what of that? My time here is almost over. We would have a new piano, Aldyth. Did not that fiddling man find fault with this?"
"He said it was below concert pitch," replied Aldyth, understanding her uncle to refer to Captain Walker.
"Well, then, we would have that set right. And, Aldyth, I have things in my keeping that I wish should come into no hands but yours. There are some trinkets my mother used to wear—jewels of real value, I believe. You could have them reset, I suppose, to suit your fancy."
"Oh, uncle, please do not speak of that!" cried Aldyth, in distress. She could not help seeing what her uncle had in his mind; but he expressed himself so vaguely that it was impossible for her to meet his words with a decided statement concerning herself.
"Do you not care for jewels?" he asked. "I thought all women loved them."
"Oh, I admire them, certainly," said Aldyth; "but there are many things I care more for."
"You are a good girl," said her uncle. "You care to make others happy, I know. You will try," he added significantly, as he kissed her on the forehead, "you will try to do what will add so greatly to the happiness of my last days on earth."
The colour mounted to Aldyth's forehead; her lips quivered; there was a nervous tremor in her voice as she spoke.
"Anything that I can do, uncle, anything that is right; but you might wish what would be impossible for me."
"Nonsense, Aldyth," returned her uncle, with his quick, impatient frown. "You should know me better, child, than to suppose that I could wish you to do anything that is not right. My wish is only for your happiness."
"I know, uncle, I know," Aldyth began; "but—"
He checked her with an impatient gesture, and hurried out into the hall, as though determined not to hear her words.
Aldyth lingered for a few moments by the drawing room fire, feeling baffled and helpless. Her uncle's ideas of what was right for her, of what would make her happiness, differed widely from her own. How could she make him understand? Was it not all but impossible that he, whose life had lacked the most tender ties, and into which, as far as she knew, no romance had entered, should comprehend how sacred a thing marriage appeared to her, and how she dare not desecrate the highest instincts of her womanhood by joining herself by that closest of all bonds to one who could never win her supreme love?
But Stephen Lorraine had gone away satisfied that his words would not fail to have the effect he desired.
"She is all right," he said to himself; "she does not mean to give herself to Guy too easily; that is all. It is his own fault that he has failed. Of course, she sees that he does not care enough about her. But I'll find means to make him care; I'll bring him to book somehow."
And the old man pondered fresh plans, convinced that his blundering efforts at matchmaking would be crowned at last with success.
Later in the day, at her uncle's suggestion, Aldyth took ride with her cousin and his friend. Assuredly the presence of a third person was never found more convenient. Captain Walker was bent on making himself agreeable, and succeeded so well that Guy's unusual moodiness did not spoil the pleasure of the ride. Pansy was so exhilarated by the keen air that it was all her mistress could do to restrain her sportiveness, and in the excitement of the exercise, Aldyth forgot every cause of uneasiness.
But troubled thoughts returned to her. As they drove home that evening, her aunt wondered that she was so grave and still.
"Is anything troubling you, Aldyth?" she asked at last.
"Yes," said Aldyth, "I am thinking about uncle. Do you know what is his wish concerning me—and Guy?"
"Yes, dear, I have known it for some time. You don't mean to say that uncle has spoken to you about it?"
"Not directly; but I could not help knowing what he meant. He asked me to try to do what would add so greatly to his happiness. But how can one try in such a case? If only he would see that it is impossible!"
"You think it so, then?" said her aunt, quickly.
"Auntie, do you need to ask the question? You might know me better than to suppose that I could marry Guy."
"Well, I thought not," said Miss Lorraine. "It does not surprise me to hear you say so. And yet—and yet—I am very sorry. This will make a deal of trouble."
"I can bear my share of the trouble," said Aldyth, "but I am sorry to disappoint uncle. He desires it so much, that for his sake, I almost wish it were possible."
Miss Lorraine sighed. Various aspects of the affair presented themselves to her which never entered into Aldyth's thoughts. She wondered whether the girl's mother would approve of the decision to which she had come. To Aldyth, the question was perfectly simple, and it never occurred to her as possible that her mother's opinion on the subject might not coincide with her own.