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"I wonder what she will say when I tell her?" said Miss Lorraine, moving off in search of Aldyth.
"And what will Guy say?" asked the lawyer, looking troubled. "I suppose he had better know without delay. Will you say to him, if you come across him, that I should like to have a few words with him here?"
Aldyth had risen, refreshed by her sleep, and was in the dining room, talking with Guy, who had just returned from Woodham, whither he had ridden on business connected with his uncle's decease. Guy had still a haggard, excited look, but he was talking of Hilda as Miss Lorraine entered.
"Yes," he said, "it was wonderful how uncle came round after that day. Before he used to speak of Hilda in a way that made me wild; but when she came to luncheon, he began paying her compliments, to my great surprise, and he said to me afterwards that she was a perfect little lady, though it was a pity she was so small."
"I do not think so," said Aldyth, heartily. "Hilda is charming. I would not have her an inch taller. I am so glad uncle changed his opinion of her."
"Yes, she is not a bad little party," said Guy, complacently. "She suits me down to the ground."
Aldyth was amused to see that Guy had apparently forgotten his episodical wooing of herself.
"Guy," said Miss Lorraine, "Mr. Greenwood is in the library, and he would like to speak to you."
The colour flew into Guy's face. He rose and went away at once without a word.
"The forewoman from Spencer's will be here directly about our mourning," said Miss Lorraine, glancing at the clock. "You must have handsome mourning, Aldyth; it will be expected of you."
"Of course I will have what is proper," said Aldyth, a little wondering at this remark. "But must I wear heavy black this hot weather?"
"Certainly you must wear black, and I would have crape on my hat, if I were you," said Miss Lorraine, decisively; "but I forget, you do not yet understand your position."
"My position?" said Aldyth.
"Yes, my dear; you will be surprised when you hear. Mr. Greenwood has been telling me about uncle's will. Of course it must be formally read on Thursday; but there was no harm—indeed, it was better he should give me a hint as to its nature."
"Yes," said Aldyth, wondering to what all this might lead. "And it seems that Wyndham and most of the property is left to you."
"To me, auntie?" said Aldyth in amazement.
"Yes, dear, to you; I knew you would be very much surprised."
"But Guy—Guy is uncle's heir."
"He was to have been," said Miss Lorraine; "but uncle took offence with him at the beginning of the year, when he wanted to marry Hilda Bland, you know, and uncle meant him to marry you."
"Oh dear," said Aldyth, flushing hotly. "Do you mean to tell me I have been the cause of Guy losing his inheritance?"
"You are not to blame in the matter," said her aunt. "Hilda Bland might say she was the cause. It was just uncle's wilfulness."
"But it is very hard for Guy," said Aldyth. "It does not seem fair that I should have all and he nothing. Oh, he will be vexed!"
"Guy has five thousand pounds and the farm at Wood Corner," said Miss Lorraine; "but of course that is very different from what he expected."
"Cannot it be altered, aunt?" said Aldyth. "Must I take Wyndham? I am sure if I had had the least idea uncle meant to do such a thing, I would have begged him not to do it."
At that moment there came to her recollection the talk she had had with her uncle as they sat together in Hyde Park. She remembered how he had spoken of Wyndham; how anxious he appeared that the old place should remain as it was, and the promise she had given to do all in her power to keep it unchanged. But he had spoken of another mistress of Wyndham; evidently his thoughts had turned to Hilda Bland.
Doubtless he was then in a state of indecision with respect to the disposition or his property. Had he finally decided to let his last will stand, or had death, coming so unexpectedly, settled the question for him? It was impossible to know.
"You cannot set aside your uncle's will," said Miss Lorraine. "He meant you to be the mistress of Wyndham. He has thought of everything, and made careful provision for your future. If you marry, your husband is to take the name of Lorraine."
Aldyth's colour deepened. "I shall never marry," she said with decision.
"It is a great pity—" said Miss Lorraine, musingly, "it is a great pity you and Guy were not suited to each other."
Aldyth did not reply. Her face looked so full of trouble that her aunt went to her and kissed her.
"Why, Aldyth," she said, playfully, "you look quite overwhelmed. Most girls would be elated by such good fortune. Think how pleased your mother will be."
"Yes, she will be pleased," said Aldyth, as if the idea had not occurred to her before. But her face did not brighten.
"I never wished to be rich," she said, presently; "it will not make me happier. Only," she added, as she thought of her poor, overworked girl friends in London, "it will give me the power to brighten other lives. That is the best thing about wealth, I think."
"Bless you, child," said her aunt, kissing her again, "you always have brightened the lives of others. You have made mine happier ever since you came to me as a tiny child."
Aldyth rose and threw her arms about her aunt, returning her kisses with interest.
"Aunt," she asked the next minute, in a frightened whisper, "shall I have to live here now?"
"I do not know, dear; but I suppose it must be your home," said Miss Lorraine, cheerfully.
"I can never bear to live here alone," said Aldyth, almost in tears. "You must live here with me, auntie."
"Well, well, dear, we will see; it is early yet to make plans," said Miss Lorraine, soothingly. She was not prepared to renounce on the instant her pretty cottage at Woodham.
Aldyth passed through the next few days with a strange sense of unreality. She went about the house and grounds, looked at all the quaint, old-fashioned belongings, so familiar to her, and told herself they were now her own; but it did not seem as if it could be true. She had not much time for solitary musing. There were many things to be arranged, and though nothing was said about the will till after the funeral, every one about the place soon seemed to know that Miss Aldyth's opinion was of the first importance, and everything must be referred to her.
Guy's bearing but too plainly proclaimed the disappointment of his hopes. It made Aldyth miserable to see him; but he would not allow her to express any feeling on the subject. He checked the faltering words she tried to utter with a cold profession that he was glad things had turned out so well for her.
"Women are better diplomatists than men," he said, sneeringly. "They are clever enough to win their ends without losing favour at court."
The words stung Aldyth, who felt that they were unjust. It hurt her, too, that Hilda sent her no word, nor took the slightest notice of her being at Wyndham.
She had an uncomfortable sense that most persons were treating her in a new manner. Mr. Greenwood, the banker, one of the executors of Mr. Lorraine's will, and his brother, Mr. Ralph, became quite ceremonious in their deference to her wishes. The servants, whom she regarded as old friends, showed an unusual assiduity in waiting on her. The rector of Woodham suddenly grew interested in her views on various questions, and the new curate in charge of the old church, actuated possibly by the hope of future subscriptions, called twice ere her uncle had been dead a week. As for her mother, it was with a bitter sense of amusement that Aldyth read her congratulations.
"My DARLING CHILD," Mrs. Stanton wrote—"It makes me so happy to know that your lifelong devotion to your grand-uncle has met with its right reward. You deserve to be rich and prosperous, for you have always been so good and unselfish, so willing to do all in your power to make others happy. I confess I trembled when I heard how you had disappointed his wish that you should marry your cousin; but it is plain now that you acted for the best. Of course he feels it, but he is a man, and can make his way in the world; it is much better you should be provided for."We miss you every day. How I wish you were coming to Eastbourne with us! Papa will not accompany us, after all. He has received such accounts of the state of his business that he has resolved to return to Melbourne at once. I am sorry, for he is hardly fit to go alone, and he will not hear of my returning so soon. But I must hope for the best. It is such a comfort to know of your good fortune. Do write again soon, and let me know when I shall see you."Your loving"MOTHER."
So nothing now was to be said about her stupidity and folly. Her notions were no longer ridiculous. She was good and unselfish, and all she had done was right.
Gladys had added a few characteristic lines.
"You lucky girl!" she wrote. "So you have money and lands, horses, carriages, an establishment; all without the trouble of a husband! If I were you, I would never marry, but enjoy my liberty, and do as I liked. I, alas! can only get a fortune by selling myself. Fancy mamma's indignation—that tiresome Captain Walker is not going to Eastbourne after all! He feels bound instead to visit an aged relative in Essex. I believe he backed out of it because he found you were not going, but mamma says that is nonsense."I hope you will soon invite me to visit you in your new grandeur. You will let me have a gallop on one of your horses, won't you, Aldyth, dear? And I'll vow that you are the dearest sister that ever was."
Aldyth could smile over Gladys' words. She showed them to her aunt, who said at once—
"You see, you need not fear being solitary in this great house; your mother and sister are only waiting for an invitation."
"Oh, to be sure!" cried Aldyth, her face lighting up with unexpected pleasure. "I had not thought of that. Fancy my having mother and Gladys here as my guests! I should like that. And Nelly, too, must come; she is so fond of the country. And Cecil might come for the shooting. Oh, that is grand!"
Miss Lorraine was surprised to see what pleasure Aldyth derived from her suggestion. She wondered if it had ever occurred to old Stephen that Mrs. Stanton might largely benefit by Aldyth's inheritance. In his thoughts of what the future might bring forth, had he ever pictured that fair lady coming as a visitor to Wyndham? Probably not. But Miss Lorraine kept her reflections to herself. She would not cast a shadow on the first gleam of satisfaction Aldyth's fortune had caused her.
After a week full of strange and exciting experiences, the calm repose of Sunday was very welcome to Aldyth. She drove with her aunt to Woodham Church in the morning, and had an uneasy consciousness that she was much observed as she entered the building. Whilst at the close of the service, many of her acquaintances studied her furtively, but seemed shy of speaking to her.
She was glad to regain the shelter of the carriage, and was content to find herself passing once more along the straight, monotonous road between the quiet fields.
Miss Lorraine, fussily conscious of her fresh mourning, and the importance which their bereavement gave them in the eyes of their neighbours, had much to say, and had apparently observed every individual who had attended the service.
But Aldyth did not find it necessary to pay close attention to her aunt's remarks. A word now and then was enough to satisfy Miss Lorraine, and Aldyth's thoughts took their own course in the intervals, revolving chiefly about the query why Mr. Glynne, whom she had seen as she passed out of church, had chosen to stand at a distance, lifting his hat ceremoniously, when he might have come forward with a friend's greeting. He had been so kind and friendly the other day, was he going to be different now?
In the warm afternoon Aldyth wandered from the house, and crossing the garden and a meadow beyond, approached a knoll of trees, which seemed to promise a cool retreat. Seating herself in their shade, she threw down her hat and gave a little sigh of relief at finding herself in this cool, quiet spot. All about her lay the green, still country, breathing a calm which seemed to belong to the day. The fields an which she looked down were her fields, Aldyth told herself with a faint smile; those were her cows she saw going forth into the lane on their way to be milked; the woods to the right, rising against the sky, were her woods; yes, even that tiny rabbit, which whisked away as she raised her hand, belonged to her.
The thought of this great, unexpected inheritance weighed on Aldyth's mind. Her father had grown up with the expectation that at some future time it would be his; Guy, in his turn, had counted himself the heir; but she to whom Wyndham had fallen had never seriously imagined that such a possession would be hers. It brought with it a heavy burden of responsibility. Was it well to have so much, when many lives knew such want and privation?
His possessions had not brought her uncle happiness. He had been kind and generous to her; he had given Guy a liberal allowance; but in other quarters he had earned the reputation of being close-fisted, and it was certain that he had never spent much on his own pleasure. Aldyth had heard it said that he was in the habit of saving a third of his income each year, and it was owing to this fact that her own wealth was now so considerable. And he might have known so much of that best happiness which springs from making others happy! But there had been little love in his life. That was the pity of it. Aldyth could not but be aware that there were few persons in the neighbourhood who really regretted the death of her grand-uncle.
As she thought of it, there came home to her more powerfully than ever before the truth that love is the great secret of life; the vital lesson that the discipline of life is destined to teach us, a lesson written by God Himself in glowing characters for all time to read on the cross of Calvary.
"Life," Aldyth murmured to herself, in the words of her favourite poet—
"'Is energy of love,Divine or human; exercised in pain,In strife and tribulation; and ordained,If so approved and sanctified, to pass,Through shades and silent rest, to endless joy.'"
Then, beneath the rustling trees with the sweet, summer calm about her, Aldyth cast herself anew upon the Eternal Love, praying to be delivered from vulgar lust of acquisition, from worldly desires and aims, and to be made so pure and loving that she might not miss the vision of God here on this beautiful earth, nor fail to hear the voice of God speaking to her inmost soul.
UNWELCOME CHANGES COME IN FORTUNE'S TRAIN.
"GOOD-BYE, Aldyth! I'm off."
"Off? Off whither, Guy?" asked Aldyth, in her astonishment looking at his outstretched hand without taking it.
She had but just finished breakfast. Guy apparently had breakfasted earlier, for he stood before her, hat and stick in hand. And now Aldyth perceived that his dog-cart stood at the door, and a servant was placing what seemed to be luggage at the back.
"I am going to my own house," said Guy, stiffly. "I was down there on Saturday, and made every arrangement."
The colour flew into Aldyth's face. "Oh, Guy, why should you!" she exclaimed, deeply pained. "Surely things cannot be comfortable enough for you at the Farm, and there is no reason why you should not remain here."
"Excuse me," he said, proudly; "you do not understand. I see strong reasons why this house can no longer be my home."
"Oh, Guy, you speak as if we were enemies," said Aldyth. "Is it my fault that Wyndham was left to me? You know I would rather it had not been."
To these words Guy made no reply whatever, and his silence was irritating to Aldyth. She felt that he wanted to put her in the wrong. But she controlled herself, and after a few moments' reflection sympathy overcame irritation.
"It is dreadfully trying for you, I know, Guy," she said. "How I wish I could set it all right! You are mistaken if you think I rejoice at what has happened."
A low, impatient exclamation escaped her cousin.
"Why cannot you stay on here with me and aunt?" asked Aldyth, with the kindest intentions. "You need not think of getting your own house ready till Hilda is prepared to share it."
"If I wait for that, I shall wait a long time," he said, bitterly. "Do you think I can contemplate marriage on the income I shall draw from that wretched farm? I am not such a fool. No, that dream is over."
"Guy!" exclaimed Aldyth, startled and distressed.
It had not struck her that Hilda's happiness might be imperilled by the new, wholly unlooked-for turn of affairs. She recoiled afresh from the position in which she found herself. Wild ideas of setting aside her uncle's will, of insisting upon an equal division of the property, of refusing to live at Wyndham, flitted through her brain, only to be followed by a keen sense of their impracticability.
Whilst these thoughts possessed her, Guy again held out his hand. She took it mechanically, and the next instant he hurried from the room. Three minutes later she saw him drive away from the house.
Aldyth burst into tears. It was hard to have to pay such a price for an inheritance she had never desired. She began to hate the wealth that was bringing such isolation into her life. Her cousin, the playmate of her childhood, was driven from the home in which he had been brought up; her dearest friend was alienated from her, and all through no fault of her own. It was hard. Aldyth needed not to be told that she had become a chief centre of interest in the little world of Woodham. Past experience made her perfectly aware that her name was constantly on the lips of the gossips, and that truth was likely to suffer in the rapid exchange of ideas regarding her that was going on.
But she would have smiled had she known the magnitude to which her fortune had been blown by the breath of Rumour. According to some persons, the savings of old Stephen Lorraine had been enormous, and his niece had come into possession of little short of half a million. And to make the contrast as striking as possible, Guy's bequest was proportionately reduced. He had been cut off with a shilling and the farm at Wood Corner, which every one knew did not comprise the most productive acres in the neighbourhood.
"Have you heard the news, Mr. Glynne?" asked Clara Dawtrey, brave in the consciousness of a fresh pink gingham, which he must admire, as she stopped that gentleman in the London Road.
"What news, Miss Dawtrey?" he asked, fixing on her his peculiarly earnest gaze.
John Glynne had the quality of being a thorough listener. Clara found the gravity of his expression and the close attention he was paying to her words rather disconcerting, as she said, rapidly—
"Oh, the news about Aldyth Lorraine, I mean. Do you know that she has become a great heiress? Old Stephen saved tremendously all his life, and she has come in for no end of money. He was as close as possible; they say he would not even buy a new suit when his brother died. But I do call it a shame that such a nice fellow as Guy should have nothing."
"Is it so?" asked Mr. Glynne, quietly. "Does Mr. Guy Lorraine inherit nothing?"
"Oh, he has that mean little farm at Wood Corner, but what is that when he expected to be the heir of Wyndham? I am sorry for Hilda, but I must say it is amusing to think of Mrs. Bland's disappointment. She must have congratulated herself that Hilda was going to make such a good match."
The young lady laughed gleefully, but not a muscle of John Glynne's face changed. It was impossible to judge how he was affected by the news just out in Woodham, for it was the evening of the day on which old Mr. Lorraine's funeral had taken place.
"I would not be Aldyth Lorraine for anything," continued Miss Dawtrey, still uneasy beneath Mr. Glynne's gaze. "I should feel odious, taking everything like that. And in many ways it must be hateful to be an heiress. I should feel sure that every man who asked me to marry him only wanted me for my money. But the man who marries Aldyth will find that he cannot do as he likes with her money; old Stephen has tied it up tightly. But she ought to have married her cousin. I shall always say that. Every one expected it of her."
"Is a young lady bound to fulfil the expectations other people have formed concerning her?" asked Mr. Glynne, with a slight smile.
"Not at all," said Clara, readily; "for my part, I make a point of doing the reverse; there is nothing I enjoy more than astonishing people. But Aldyth has always been so good and proper."
John Glynne lifted his hat and moved on without saying more, though he wondered at the idea of goodness suggested by Miss Dawtrey's words.
The next minute he was passing Myrtle Cottage, which, with its closely-drawn blinds, had a deserted air. Even the little housemaid looked forlorn as she stood in the front garden, watering the geraniums. The memory of pleasant evenings spent within those walls came to him with a painful reminder that the pleasure was not likely to be renewed. Aldyth would never return to make her home in the cottage. The vision of her, rich, courted, removed to a distance from himself, rose before his mind. The wealth she had inherited would be an impassable barrier dividing them.
The news had come as a blow to him; but he rallied himself to bear it bravely. Till this moment he had hardly been aware how strong were the new hopes that had sprung up in his heart from the hour when he knew that Guy Lorraine had chosen another bride. They must be crushed now.
"It is well that I know in time," he said to himself. "Well that she can have no idea of all that she is to me; for it would be preposterous for a poor tutor to approach as a suitor the heiress of Wyndham."
But it was impossible to resist the suggestion which came with the memory of her last glance as she drove from the station, that possibly under other circumstances he might have won her love. John paused, and, with his arms folded on the top of a gate, and his unseeing eyes gazing across the fields, pictured to himself in imagination what this change might mean for Aldyth. He could not imagine her elated by this sudden dower of wealth. It was easier to think of her as shrinking from its burden, and fearful of herself, lest she should fail to discharge aright the new responsibility.
Would it make her happier? Hardly, for she was not one to prize material prosperity. Her tastes were simple; she had a childlike enjoyment of the common things of life. He thought her one of the least worldly of women. Was there any real danger of her giving herself to a worthless fortune-hunter? He could not think it. Her pure, strong face rising before his mental vision seemed to declare the idea absurd. The man who won her must be worthy of her love and confidence.
"God bless her!" Glynne said within his heart. "Ay, and He will bless her, for she is as pure and good and unselfish as an angel, and, whatever her lot may be, she will make others better and happier."
But though he had so high an opinion of the woman he loved, though he held her exalted above all vulgar conventional notions and aspirations, one to prize her womanhood more highly than her wealth, his pride yet saw in her fortune an insurmountable obstacle to his ever offering her his love.
"Hilda," said Kitty Bland to her sister, two days later, "mother is going to drive to Wyndham this afternoon. I suppose you will go with her to see Aldyth?"
They were in the garden. Hilda was stretched comfortably in the hammock, and Kitty, seated on a chair under the trees, with a basin in her lap and a basket by her side, was enraged in the homely occupation of shelling peas.
"I shall do no such thing," said Hilda, pettishly. "It is like you to suggest it, Kitty. How do you suppose I can bear to go to Wyndham?"
"Very easily," said Kitty, in her most matter-of-fact tone. "You always have liked going there, and I should think you would like it better now that Aldyth is at Wyndham, and not that dreadful old Mr. Lorraine. Oh yes, I know it's bad form to speak the truth of people when they are dead; but he was horrid. He was for ever annoying people whilst he lived, and he did his best to make things uncomfortable all round when he was gone."
"He treated Guy shamefully!" said Hilda, with emphasis. "After the noble way in which Guy saved his life, it was too bad! I can never bear to see Wyndham again—the place that I used to think would be my home."
"You have not thought so long," said Kitty, coolly; "it is barely three months since you became engaged. And, as I so often tell you, you should not count your chickens before they are hatched."
"At that rate one should never look forward to anything," said Hilda, discontentedly.
"Well, it is better not," said Kitty. "But, really, the house at Wood Corner is very nice, Hilda; a much more cheerful place than Wyndham, which, with that pond and so many trees about the house, always strikes me as gloomy."
"Oh, Kitty, it is lovely at night to see the moon shining on the pond, and the nightingales sing so beautifully in the trees!"
"Ah, I forgot; you are romantic, and enjoy that sort of thing," remarked Kitty. "You would like to live like Mariana in a moated grange."
"Oh, don't speak of that!" said Hilda, with a shiver. "I hope I may never be as wretched as Mariana, though sometimes I think—"
She did not finish her sentence. Kitty saw that tears were in her sister's eyes, and tried to cheer her by saying, briskly—"Well, I mean to make the best of things. I am very sorry for Guy's disappointment, and all that; but since he was not to have the property, I am glad it has come to our dear old Aldyth. Fancy her owning all those horses! That's a good thing for me, I know. She will give me a mount whenever I want one. How I wish she went in for hunting, that we might follow the hounds together!"
"You think of nothing but your own pleasure, Kitty," said Hilda, impatiently. "For my part, I am disgusted with Aldyth; I can never feel towards her as I used."
"Why, what has Aldyth done?" asked Kitty, in the utmost astonishment. "It is not her fault that her uncle left her the property."
"I am not so sure of that," said Hilda. "Guy thinks she must have known, and she might have used her influence on his behalf."
"What nonsense!" exclaimed Kitty, warmly. "When did you know Mr. Stephen Lorraine allow any one to influence him? He always did as he liked. I am surprised that you should say such a thing of Aldyth. After all your professions of friendship, too! You ought to know her better than to suppose that she would willingly supplant Guy!"
But Hilda would not take back her words, nor would she be persuaded to accompany their mother to Wyndham. She remained at home, sulky and miserable, whilst Kitty and Mrs. Bland went to see Aldyth.
Mrs. Bland would have been wanting in the natural feelings of a mother if she had not lamented Guy's altered prospects. She considered that the young man had been unfairly treated, for although old Stephen had been very guarded in the conversation he had with her, when he yielded his consent to an engagement between Hilda and Guy, his manner had conveyed to her the impression that he meant that his grandnephew should be his heir. The unexpected turn of affairs consequent on Mr. Lorraine's decease caused her considerable anxiety, but she never thought of blaming Aldyth in the matter. She rather felt that the girl was to be pitied, for she foresaw that Aldyth's inheritance would bring with it cares and difficulties which would weigh heavily on her young heart.
So Aldyth saw no change in the face of her old friend, and felt she was still dear to the motherly heart, which had taught her to place so high a value on the filial bond.
"Dear Mrs. Bland," she said at once, sure of her sympathy, "I don't think you need to be told that I would much rather not have had Wyndham. It is a real pain to me that Guy should go away, and I should be established here. I would reverse our positions if I could."
"I do not wish them reversed," said Mrs. Bland; "an equal division of the property would have been the right thing, in my opinion. I always thought you would have a handsome legacy, Aldyth, for your father was very dear to Mr. Lorraine and continued to be so to the end, I believe, in spite of that unhappy estrangement."
"Uncle once spoke to me about Wyndham," said Aldyth, "and I promised him I would use any influence I had to prevent the old place from being greatly altered after his death; but I am sure, although he spoke in that way, I never dreamed that he meant to leave the place to me."
"Of course not, my dear; how should you?" said Mrs. Bland. "Well, it is a great disappointment for Guy; but perhaps, after all, he will be none the worse for having to work harder and depend more upon himself. His marriage must be indefinitely postponed; but they are young, and a lengthened probation will be a good test of their love. Hilda, poor child, cannot see it in that light. But here come some more visitors—Clara Dawtrey and her father, I declare! You will have all Woodham out here this week, Aldyth."
"I could dispense with much of this civility," said Aldyth, smiling. "I hate to be treated us if I were somehow different from my former self. I do hope my friends will not change towards me."
"They are not likely to do that as long as you remain what you are," said Mrs. Bland, kissing her.
But Aldyth soon learned with sorrow that Hilda's love for her had cooled; and perhaps the change which she discerned in another friend cost her still deeper pain. Mr. Glynne was not amongst those who traversed the five straight miles of dusty road to pay their respects to the heiress of Wyndham. Aldyth hardly expected that he would come unless invited; but when some weeks later she chanced to meet him at Mrs. Greenwood's, there was such a lack of the old friendliness in his manner as made it impossible for her to respond to his grave politeness except with a courtesy equally distant.
Had any one told John Glynne that he had spoken coldly to Aldyth Lorraine, he would have been surprised. He was conscious of an inward excitement on seeing her that forced him to exercise strong self-control. Whilst talking to others he thought only of her, and nothing that she said or did escaped his notice. But it was impossible for Aldyth to know this. She was conscious only that he remained aloof from her, and when others were paying her considerable attention, appeared indifferent to her presence.
When he quitted the drawing room without having attempted to exchange a word with her, Aldyth's heart throbbed with painful resentment.
"Why should he be different to me now?" she asked herself. "I never needed a friend more than I do at this time, and he is so wise and good; he could advise me, he could help me. There are so many things I should like to say to him, but I cannot utter a word when he looks at me in that grave, severe way. Oh, I did think I could rest on his friendship; but that, too, is slipping away from me."
GUY MAKES A DISCOVERY.
ALDYTH did not remain at Wyndham for more than a week after her uncle's death. There was something oppressive in the quietness of the old house, where Guy's gay voice and whistle and the stir of his comings and goings were greatly missed, and Miss Lorraine, though she drove into the little town almost every day, pined for the neighbourly interests of her life at Woodham.
"Let us go back to the cottage, auntie," Aldyth said; "we shall feel so much more at home there, and we can come out here constantly to see that things are all right, though there is no doubt Mrs. Rogers will keep everything in perfect order. Yes, let me go home with you till mother and Gladys can come to me. Then I will return and endeavour to rightly discharge my duties as the mistress of Wyndham."
This suggestion was so entirely to Miss Lorraine's mind that she was at once convinced of its wisdom. Aldyth was in no way bound to take up her abode at the Hall forthwith. So a day or two later she was again domiciled in her aunt's home, occupying her old bedroom, and taking up with a new zest, born of a sense of impermanence, the simple, homely duties she had always performed. She was living the old life again; but the familiar surroundings only made her the more conscious of a certain change in herself. The last few months had enlarged her knowledge of life; some hopes had been disappointed, some illusions swept away, and certain grim realities belonging to human lives had been painfully thrust upon her notice.
As she sat at her writing-table, old thoughts, associated with the objects, that met her view, came back to her with somewhat of pain in their memory; the future, so different from anything she had expected, inspired her with some dread, yet, through all, her inner nature kept its deep calm. Her heart was too sound for any disappointment to render her cynical. Perhaps it is not too much to say that no experience can embitter the heart of a woman who is set upon living the highest life possible to her, and who thinks less of winning happiness for herself than of bestowing it on others.
Aldyth had not long returned to Woodham when an event occurred which cast a shadow on the social life of the little town. Mrs. Greenwood, the banker's bright, clever wife, had never been a strong woman, though her remarkable energy hid the fact from ordinary acquaintances. Her sudden death, from an unsuspected heart disease, was a sad shock to her friends. A woman of keen intellect and cultured tastes, she had taken the greatest interest in Mr. Glynne's lectures, and done her utmost to make them a success. She was ready to lend her help to any scheme that would promote the social welfare of the town. Without children of her own, she found intense enjoyment in the society of young people, and many a party of them she gathered in her large drawing room or in the fine old garden which lay behind the bank. Aldyth Lorraine had been a great favourite with her, and the girl felt that she had lost a friend whom she could ill spare.
Much sympathy was felt for Mr. Greenwood, a man verging upon sixty years of age, whose home must now be so desolate.
It was manifested on the funeral day, when many persons met in the pretty cemetery just beyond the town on the London road, to see the coffin, with its pall of flowers, lowered into the earth. Aldyth had come with her aunt, and, the brief service over, she caught sight of Kitty Bland standing at a little distance, who beckoned to her to join her.
"Let us wait till the others have gone," she said, as Aldyth approached her; "I don't want to walk back with them and hear them talking it over."
"Willingly," said Aldyth; and they turned to the more secluded part of the cemetery and sat down in the shade of some old elms.
Miss Lorraine, who did enjoy "talking it over," had walked on with acquaintances.
"So Hilda has not come?" said Aldyth.
"No," said Kitty, drily. "She says she cannot bear to go to a funeral, she is so sensitive, the impression remains with her for days."
"I did not wish to come," said Aldyth, "but aunt said she thought it would seem kind to Mr. Greenwood, though I am quite sure he could not notice who were here. I do not want to associate dear Mrs. Greenwood with the grave. She was so bright and good; she seemed all spirit, and I try to think of her as having entered upon a freer and more blessed state of existence."
"Yes, that is the right way to think of her," said Kitty. "I will tell you what Mr. Glynne said the other day; I thought it was so nice of him. He overtook me as I was coming up the street, and we walked a few steps together. We met little Dottie Greenwood and her nurse, and the child—you know how fond she is of him—ran up to him and said, with such a sorrowful look on her sweet little face,—
"'Dear Aunt Mary is so ill that she is dead.'
"'But she is not ill now,' he said as he kissed her; 'Aunt Mary is quite well now.'
"And Dottie, smiled and repeated, 'Yes, Aunt Mary is quite well now.'
"It touched me so, somehow; and yet he only said what we all profess to believe. Mr. Glynne is very good, don't you think?"
"I am sure of it," Aldyth said, and was silent. She never said many words about John Glynne.
"He must feel Mrs. Greenwood's death very much," continued Kitty. "She was a good friend to him, and he was often at her house."
Aldyth had more than once heard Mrs. Greenwood profess a high regard for John Glynne, but she did not remark on it.
"Mother says she is thankful Mr. Glynne came to Woodham," continued Kitty. "Charlie has so improved. It is wonderful how fond the boys are of Mr. Glynne, and what influence he has over them. He never seems to lecture them, but he has a knack of saying just the right word at the right time. And then I think his example impresses them. He is such a perfect gentleman, though really I believe it is higher praise to say that he is a thorough man—so strong, and true, and brave."
"His life was gentle, and the elementsSo mixed in him, that Nature might stand upAnd say to all the world, 'This was a man!'"
thought Aldyth. But she did not give Kitty the benefit of the quotation. She was content to contribute nothing to the conversation when it reached this point; but it was not because the subject of it was uninteresting to her.
"Guy was not here," remarked Kitty, after a pause. "I thought he would be. I wonder if he will honour Hilda with a visit this evening."
Kitty's manner of saying this was so peculiar that Aldyth looked at her in some surprise.
"Honour Hilda!" she said. "That's a strange expression to use, Kitty."
"I do believe he regards his visits as an honour," said Kitty, with scorn in her tone. "I would not put up with such a lover if I were Hilda."
"Why, what is amiss with him?" asked Aldyth, quickly.
"Oh, it makes me wild to see the way he treats Hilda," said Kitty, with sudden warmth. "He keeps away from her for days; he shows the utmost indifference to her wishes; he makes it only too plain that his feelings towards her have changed, and he means her to understand that it is so."
"Oh, Kitty! You don't say so!" exclaimed Aldyth, her voice full of pain. "You must be mistaken. Why, he was so fond of Hilda that he risked uncle's anger for her sake."
"Ah, yes; but he never expected to lose all for love," replied Kitty. "His love could not stand that trial. He has never been the same to Hilda since Mr. Lorraine died."
"Then his was not true love," said Aldyth, indignantly. "Such love is not worthy of the name."
"So I think," said Kitty. "If I were Hilda, I would soon tell my gentleman to march. I really believe he wants her to break off the engagement, but she will not see it."
"Poor Hilda!" said Aldyth. "Oh, it is disgraceful of Guy! I did think he really cared for Hilda."
Kitty shrugged her shoulders.
"Preserve me from such a lover!" she said. "I am sorry for Hilda, but really I feel out of patience with her sometimes. She ought to see the true state of things; but she only cherishes her wounded feelings, and thinks herself the most unhappy of girls. She said this morning she wished she were going to be laid in the grave instead of Mrs. Greenwood."
"Oh, it is very sad for her," said Aldyth, tears springing to her eyes. "I feel almost as if it were my fault; and yet—and yet—if Guy can so easily change, it is better she should know it now."
"That is what mother and I say," remarked Kitty; "but of course we dare not hint at such a thing to Hilda. We have to ignore that there is anything wrong. But I do wish she would pluck up spirit and act as she should. If she would talk to you about it, perhaps you could give her a little advice."
But Aldyth knew that Hilda was not likely to approach the subject with her. Confidences between them had ceased. With her return to Woodham, Aldyth had resumed the old friendly intercourse with the Blands, but she could not break down the barrier of coldness and constraint by which Hilda kept her at arm's length.
"Kitty," said Aldyth, a little later, as they took their way down the hill, "I am going to Wyndham early to-morrow. Could you go with me and spend the day? We would have a ride in the afternoon; the horses must need exercise."
"Oh, Aldyth, how good of you! Of course I can come," said Kitty, delighted. "I have been longing for a ride. And you won't tell mother if I try some of the fences, will you? I'll promise not to break my neck."
"That is more than you can promise," said Aldyth, laughing.
The hot July and August days passed pleasantly away, and were spent so much in the old manner that Aldyth was often able to forget that she was the heiress of Wyndham. Gwendolen Bland had come home for her holidays, determined to put as much enjoyment into them as possible. There were tennis-parties and picnics, boating on the river both in sunshine and by moonlight, school treats, flower shows, harvest festivals, and all the various entertainments common to country life to be participated in. It was a vexation to Clara Dawtrey that Mr. Glynne was not on the ground, to see how well she played her part in the annual tournament given by the Woodham Tennis Club; but he had left the town when the Grammar School holidays began, and would not return till September.
Aldyth received bright letters from Eastbourne, where her mother and Gladys were having a good time. Nelly, who missed Aldyth, and could hardly forgive her for refusing an invitation to join them, was less content. It had been decided that Mrs. Stanton and Gladys were to visit Wyndham in the autumn; but no date had been fixed for their coming, and at present they seemed disposed to stay on at Eastbourne into September. Aldyth was looking forward with pleasure to welcoming her mother, and took trouble to get the house and garden at Wyndham into as nice order as possible, so as to please her mother's eyes.
"Do you think I might have the furniture re-covered, auntie?" she said one afternoon, when she and Miss Lorraine were in the old drawing room at Wyndham. "I can't have a new carpet and new curtains without having something done to the chairs and sofas."
"I would buy new furniture if I were you," said Miss Lorraine. "Uncle often talked of refurnishing this room."
"Yes, when Guy was married," said Aldyth with a smile. "I don't think anything less than a wedding would justify such an outlay. But really I have no wish to banish these spindle-legged chairs; they are quite in correct 'high art' style, and as for that carved ebony chair, I believe it would fetch a hundred guineas at Christie's. When I get my blue-green upholstery and an Oriental carpet, you won't know the room."
"It will be a great improvement, no doubt," said Miss Lorraine; "there's some old blue china in the store-room you might make use of for decorative purposes."
"The very thing!" cried Aldyth, gleefully.
She was beginning to take some pleasure in her possessions. She had fine taste, and an artistic sense of colour; it was an enjoyment to her to plan the re-arrangement of her drawing room. She had dragged the large, old-fashioned settee from its place against the wall; she had pushed the ebony chair well into the light, and thrown the faded antimacassar which covered it on to the floor, when the sound of a quick, firm step in the hall surprised her.
"Why, that is never Guy," she said; "I fancied he had vowed not to cross the threshold of the Hall again."
"It certainly sounds like his step," said Miss Lorraine, and she hastily opened the door.
It was Guy, and the next moment he stood in the doorway.
Aldyth coloured. She would have preferred that he should not find her turning things about in the old drawing room. It must be painful to him to be thus reminded of her possession of Wyndham.
But Guy showed no annoyance, though he appeared a trifle embarrassed as he entered. He quickly recovered himself, however, and began to exhibit a good humour which astonished Aldyth, who had seen scarcely anything of her cousin since he quitted Wyndham. When they had happened to meet, he had maintained towards her a chilling courtesy; but now, here was the Guy of other days, as bright and kind as if nothing had happened to alienate them.
"I've come at the right time," he said, apparently unaware that there was anything surprising in his appearance. "I see you want a little help. Aldyth, don't attempt to move that chair; it's too heavy for you. Cousin Lucy, you want those curtains taken down, don't you? I'll tackle that. If you want a handy man to do your jobs, here I am."
Miss Lorraine laughed, and looked delighted to see him in this mood. It was impossible for her long to regard Guy with disapproval. She had told herself it was but natural he should resent Aldyth's acquisition of the property. His uncle had not dealt well with him. So she welcomed with joy this manifestation of the old friendliness, and was ready to do all in her power to cement the reconciliation.
And Aldyth, too, was pleased. It would have pained her to feel that any one regarded her as an enemy, and it had especially grieved her that her old playmate and cousin should look on her with coldness and suspicion. With one accord the two exerted themselves to "make much" of Guy, so that he found it easy to establish himself on the old footing at Wyndham.
"We shall have tea almost directly," said Miss Lorraine. "You will stay and take some with us?"
"Of course you will," said Aldyth, scarce letting him reply. "There is nothing more to be done here. I was only trying effects. Come into the garden and help me get some flowers for the vases."
"With pleasure," said Guy.
It was just what he wanted, to be alone with her. So, having found basket and scissors, they went forth. The late sun was sending its long rays across the newly-mown lawn, and lighting up the golden hearts of the water-lilies floating on their broad leaves in the centre of the pond. Beyond the garden, visible through an opening in the trees, a harvest field, with its busy workers gathered about the heaped-up cart, made a charming picture.
"And how is Hilda?" asked Aldyth, lightly. "I have not seen her for the last few days."
"She is very well, I believe," he said, but with something so unusual in his voice and manner that Aldyth looked at him curiously.
"When are you coming to the Farm?" he asked, the next minute. "You must pay me a visit some day. I have got things pretty tidy there, though not, of course, just as you would arrange them."
"Ah, you cannot expect the house to look quite as it should till Hilda reigns there as mistress," said Aldyth, with a smile. But the smile died away as, glancing at him, she saw the strange effect of her words.
Guy's face had grown crimson; he looked painfully confused, and seemed anxious to avoid her glance, as he stood beating the grass with his stick. But it was impossible to evade the consciousness that Aldyth's eyes were upon him, and that she waited for an explanation of his too evident confusion.
"You must not speak of that, Aldyth," he said, with an effort; "Hilda will never be the mistress of my home. In fact—I came here to tell you—our engagement is at an end."
"Oh, Guy!" was all Aldyth could say.
"Yes, it is so," he said, finding words more readily now. "And, on the whole—though, of course it has all been excessively trying—I believe it is for the best. We are not in the least suited to each other."