All this while I was longing to put a certain question to Peggy, but not till we had reached Clapham and were walking home from the station was I able to do so.
"Peggy," I said as we reached the edge of the common, and stepped within the welcome shade of trees, "Olive is not engaged to be married, is she?"
Peggy glanced quickly at me.
"Why, who told you, Nan?" she asked in surprise. "I mean what made you think of such a thing?"
"Then it is true?" I groaned. "Tell me who he is, Peggy?"
"I was told not to say a word about it," Peggy replied. "Olive was going to tell you herself, but since you know so much already—"
"Yes, yes," I broke in impatiently, "you must tell me about him. I can hear Olive's story later. Is he good enough for her?"
"She thinks so," said Peggy significantly. "She puts him on so high a pedestal that I tell her he must topple off some day. His name is Percival Smythe."
"What!" I exclaimed. "Mrs. Smythe's nephew! Olive wrote me that he had come back from India, and was staying there. She said they had been cycling together, but I never thought— He must be a great deal older than she is."
"And why, pray?" Peggy asked with a smile.
"Oh, I see," she added. "Olive probably omitted to explain that he was Mrs. Smythe's grand-nephew. The old lady always speaks of him as her nephew. As a matter-of-fact, he is twenty-nine."
"Oh!" I said disconsolately. "And is Olive very fond of him?"
Peggy laughed.
"I shall leave you to find that out for yourself," she said. "You won't have much difficulty."
"Do you like him, Peggy?" I asked anxiously.
"Oh, yes, we all like him," she said cheerfully, "and not least Master Fred. He has been making a good deal of Fred. He proposed taking him to the Zoo on Saturday week, and then with serpentine cunning suggested that Olive and I should go too. I fell into the snare, like the dear little innocent I am. Soon after entering the gardens, Mr. Smythe provided Fred with a big bag of buns, and led us to the bears' den. Fred was soon engaged in exciting endeavours to induce the big bear to climb his pole, and I was watching lest he should precipitate himself into the pit, when I became aware that the other two had vanished. If you will believe it, we saw nothing more of them till it was almost time to go home, and I had all of taking Fred from house to house, and helping him to spend the half-crown Mr. Smythe had given him, in rides on every animal that could possibly be mounted."
"Poor Peggy! They did treat you badly!" I said, unable to keep from laughing, though I did not feel exactly merry. "I hope they duly apologised."
"They told me they were sorry, but they certainly disguised their feelings well," she said, with twinkling eyes, "for I never saw two mortals look so supremely happy. The hours in which I had been growing hot and weary had passed like a blissful dream with them, and they could not believe it was so late. Of course, I guessed what it meant, and the next day he came to see father, and the thing was settled."
The news did not please me at all. It was selfish of me; but I could not welcome the shadow of approaching change. I should have liked to find everything at home going on as usual. Before I could question Peggy further we were in the old familiar road, and in another minute mother was giving me her cheery greeting.
Olive had not yet returned from Mrs. Smythe's, so I had a little quiet chat with mother first. She told me that she and father were satisfied that Olive would have a good husband and were glad that this happiness had come to her. But though she spoke so bravely, I could see that mother shrank sorely from the thought of parting with her eldest child. While we talked Olive came in, accompanied by her fiancé. I had made up my mind to dislike Percival Smythe; but his appearance disarmed my prejudice. I saw at once he was a gentleman, and I soon knew that Olive had not given her heart to one unworthy of the gift.
As I looked at my sister I marvelled at the change I saw in her. Always bright and winsome, her face was now radiant with happiness. Olive had always been remarkable for her unselfishness, and now she loved with the strong, pure, whole-souled devotion which forgets self in loving.
I shared her room, and we had a long, long talk ere we slept that night.
As I listened to the glowing words in which she described the man she loved, I found it hard to believe that he was quite the heroic being she painted him; but I felt that he was a happy man to have won such love and trust, and that he must be the better for it. I tried to be glad for Olive's sake, but I am afraid that I still cherished a grudge against him.
"Of course you will not be married for some time yet," I said.
"Not till next year," she said softly, "he has to return to India in the spring."
"To India!" I cried sharply. "Oh, Olive, you don't mean to say that he is going to take you to India?"
"Why, naturally," she said with a smile, "since he has a post there and is only home on furlough. What are you thinking of, Nan?"
"I had not thought of that," I said. "Oh, Olive, I cannot bear to think of your going right away to India."
"Oh, nonsense, Nan," she said smilingly. "India is not such a very great way off; at any rate people can easily get back."
How lightly she said it! It struck me as strange that Olive, who had always seemed to be so fond of mother and home and all of us, should now be so willing to leave us and go to the other side of the world with a man of whom she had known nothing when I left home.
"So, Olive," I said in a tone of mournful conviction, "he is more to you than any of us?"
A grave, sweet look came to Olive's face.
"Why, yes, he certainly is," she made reply, "but you must not suppose, dear old Nan, that I care less for any one because of this new and precious love. It is quite otherwise. My heart goes out to every one of you, as it never did before, just because I am so glad—so glad and so thankful to God for this rich gift of love."
"Yet you are ready to go away with him to the ends of the earth!" I said.
"Yes," she said quietly, and I cannot describe her expression as she said it, "I am ready to go with him wherever he goes. We belong to each other henceforth. Ah, Nan, you cannot understand it now; but you will some day."
But it seemed to me that I was beginning to understand it already.
"NAN, who do you think I saw in Regent Street?" exclaimed my sister Dora, more eagerly than grammatically as she came into the little back garden—a typical London "garden"—consisting of a hawthorn, a rockery, and a grass-plot hardly bigger than a tablecloth, where mother, Peggy, and I were sitting to enjoy the cool of the evening. Dora had been with a party of her school-fellows under the care of their form-mistress to visit a certain interesting exhibition at the West End.
"I am sure I do not know, and I am not going to guess," I responded lazily, "so you may as well tell me at once."
"Well, then, it was Cousin Agneta," Dora said.
"You don't mean it?" I said, sitting up with sudden briskness.
"But I do," said Dora. "I tell you I saw her!"
"Was she alone?" I asked.
"No, she was walking with a gentleman—and such a masher too."
"Dora," mother broke in, "I wish you would not use those horrid slang expressions!"
"Oh, mother, what harm is there in masher? Would you rather I said swell?"
"No, I do not like either word," mother replied. "Cannot you simply say that he was a smart-looking man! Did you speak to your cousin?"
"No, I was going to; but she took hold of the man's arm and made him turn sharp round with her into one of the side streets. Yet I feel sure that she saw me," Dora said.
"Are you sure that you saw her?" Peggy asked. "I mean, did you not mistake some one else for Cousin Agneta?"
"As if I should!" Dora said with an injured air. "Surely I may be supposed to know my own cousin, when she was staying here only a few weeks ago."
"How was she dressed?" I asked.
"I don't know what her dress was like," Dora replied, "but she had on a grey hat with pink roses under the brim."
"Agneta does not possess a grey hat," I said, with a sense of relief, "so you must have made a mistake."
"If you had said a red hat, now!" suggested Peggy.
"I don't care what you like to say," Dora protested, "I know it was Cousin Agneta. She may have bought a new hat."
"Since yesterday?" I said.
"Why not?" demanded Dora.
"There I that will do," said mother decisively. "It is not in the least likely that your cousin would come up to town without letting us know, or that she would be walking in Regent Street with a gentleman."
"All the same, it was Agneta," Dora muttered perversely under her breath.
I heard her with some uneasiness. More than once I had longed to speak to mother about Agneta's unhappy love affair; but I had promised her that I would say nothing about it, unless she gave me permission, and I felt bound to keep silence.
On the following day I returned to "Gay Bowers," having much enjoyed my brief sojourn at home. I was touched by the welcome I received from every one. They said so much about how they had missed me that I was in danger of fancying myself a very important person. With much satisfaction I learned that Paulina was going on as well as possible, and was already considered to have passed the worst stage of her illness. Mr. Dicks appeared to have recovered his usual equanimity. The least happy looking of the party was Agneta. It struck me that she had a worn and restless air which marred her prettiness. When I mentioned it to aunt, she said:
"Agneta is tired; she had a fatiguing day in town yesterday."
"In town!" I exclaimed in surprise. "We saw nothing of her."
"No, she thought she would not have time to get to Clapham," Aunt Patty said. "She meant to come back by an early train; but she missed it after all. I did not like her going alone after what Mrs. Redmayne said; but she wanted to get a new hat to wear at the Canfields' garden party, and she said she was going to meet an old school-fellow. Really, I did not know what to do, for I could not go with her myself."
"And she got a new hat?" I said.
"Two new hats, the extravagant girl!" said aunt. "She wore one home, leaving the old one to be sent back by post."
"Then she appeared in a grey hat with pink roses," I said.
"You are right," said aunt; "but how do you know that?"
Then I told her how Dora had declared that she had seen Agneta in Regent Street and how we had all tried in vain to convince her that she was mistaken; but I said not a word about the man Dora had described to us. I was anxious to avoid the least risk of breaking my word to Agneta, yet I wished that I had not pledged myself so impulsively, for my discovery of the dissimulation Agneta was practising made me profoundly uncomfortable.
Agneta had welcomed me with professions of delight which I afterwards judged to be insincere, since she seemed desirous to avoid being alone with me. She gave me no opportunity of having a quiet word with her till we went upstairs for the night, and then she hurried into bed, declaring that she was very sleepy. But I made her listen to me before she slept. She could not deny that Dora had seen her in Regent Street.
"Don't be hard on me, Nan," she said. "When Ralph wrote that he would be in London on Tuesday, and asked me to meet him, I felt that I must go. I had not seen him for so long, and you know all things are fair in love."
"I don't know it," I said. "It seems to me that all things should be beautiful and honourable that have to do with love. If this man truly loved you, he would not tempt you to act in a way that is beneath your dignity. He must know that your parents have forbidden you to meet him, or even write to him."
"Why, of course he knows," Agneta said impatiently.
"Surely you would not have me submit to such tyranny!"
"I think your parents have a right to some consideration, Agneta," I replied. "You are their child; you owe everything to them. I know it is very trying for you, but if you will only wait—"
"Wait, wait! I hate that word!" broke in Agneta, angrily. "I will not wait, so there!"
"But what can you do?" I asked.
"Do?" said Agneta, with a toss of the head. "Oh, we know what to do! Mother will find that I have a will of my own, and am not the weak creature she imagines."
"Oh, Agneta!" I exclaimed, startled by her words. "You would not think of getting married without your parents' consent?"
Her face flushed.
"Oh, no, of course not," she said hurriedly. "I did not mean that."
But her manner did not convince me of the truth of her words. I knew instinctively that some such idea was in her mind.
"It would be a most foolish act, and would bring certain misery," I said. "Don't listen to him, Agneta, if he tries to persuade you to do anything so wrong."
"Of course I shall not," she returned. "But, oh, how you talk, Nan! It is clear that you know nothing whatever about love."
I was silent, but I said to myself that I could never have loved Ralph Marshman, or any man who tried to lead me into crooked ways. The man must be nobler and wiser and better than myself into whose keeping I gave my life.
I began to talk to Agneta about Olive and her great happiness, but she showed little interest in the subject. Thoroughly absorbed in herself, she had no sympathy to spare for another's joy. Paulina would have listened to the story with lively interest, and Miss Cottrell would have been ready to discuss it from every possible point of view; but Agneta heard me with a bored air which quickly reduced me to silence.
The next morning dawned beautifully bright, and when I came downstairs the hall door was wide open, and Alan Faulkner stood sunning himself on the step with Sweep beside him.
"Good-morning, Miss Nan," he said cheerily. "Is not this ever so much better than Clapham Common?"
I could not but admit that it was, for the garden was now in the perfection of its beauty. The breeze, which ruffled my hair as I advanced to the door, was sweet with the breath of flowers. The rose-tree trained against the wall of the house was full of blossoms, and bees were buzzing noisily as they flitted from rose to rose. A fine hydrangea growing by the door was a marvel of changeful colour, and close by a cluster of tall, graceful Madonna lilies, of purest whiteness, attracted the bees by their heavy perfume. It was a morning to make one sing for joy. I was feeling happy enough at that moment, and I was therefore astonished when Mr. Faulkner said, after observing me for a moment:
"What is the trouble, Miss Nan?"
"The trouble!" I repeated. "What do you mean?"
"There was a shadow on your face last evening, and I fancy that I can still detect its influence," he said. "You found nothing wrong at home, I trust?"
"Oh, no! They were all well, and things were going happily," I replied. "There was nothing there to worry me."
"But something did worry you," he said. "Can't you tell me what it is? I might be able to set it right."
"Oh, no!" I answered, colouring hotly in my confusion and surprise. "You could not help, and I could not tell you indeed."
His eyes studied me for a moment with a questioning air; then he said quietly:
"Excuse me, Miss Nan, I must seem to you a curious, meddlesome fellow."
"Not at all," I faltered. "It was kind of you to ask; but I cannot tell you about it."
A moment's silence followed; then he said:
"Do you know that Miss Cottrell was working in this garden at seven o'clock?"
"Was she really?" I said. "I cannot see her part of the garden from my window. How very energetic of her!"
"Was it not? But, of course, she needs fresh air and exercise. I suppose she does not have to do a great deal of nursing."
"Why, no! There is a trained nurse who takes charge of Paulina at night, and who is available also for part of the day," I explained. "I was thinking that Miss Cottrell would feel anxious about her flowers. You did not speak to her, I suppose?"
"No; I only saw her from my window," he replied. "She was applying the hoe with much vigour. She is one to do very thoroughly whatever she undertakes."
"That is true," I said. "It is splendid the way she has devoted herself to Paulina. Mr. Dicks has good cause to feel grateful to her."
The breakfast gong sounded, and we obeyed its summons. Mr. Dicks had already taken his place at the table, and was talking eagerly to Aunt Patty when we entered the room.
"Come, Miss Nan," he cried as he saw me, "what do you say to our celebrating your return, by having a picnic?"
"A splendid idea!" I cried. "By all means let us have it."
"And so say I," said Mr. Faulkner.
"Can you spare the time?" I asked.
"I will spare the time," was his reply.
"We should not go till after luncheon," said my aunt. "Mr. Dicks proposes taking us all to have tea at the Warren—in proper gipsy fashion, of course. We will take a kettle and all the necessary paraphernalia, and make a fire on the common to boil the kettle. We can get milk and water at the farm."
It sounded charming to me. The Warren was a beautiful, high common, about seven miles away, the haunt of innumerable rabbits, and yielding a rich harvest of blackberries in their season. Olive and I had loved going there as children, for its wild, broken ground and clumps of Scotch firs had made a delightful playground. A full, deep stream ran on one side of it, and, descending to the valley below, turned the wheel of a picturesque mill which stood there, and was the delight of artists.
Colonel Hyde had expressed his willingness to join the excursion, and Alan Faulkner and I had just decided that we would go on our bicycles, when Agneta entered the room. She apologised for her lateness as she listlessly took her seat. Mr. Dicks made haste to tell her of his grand project, but her face evinced no pleasure as she heard of it.
"I will ask you to excuse me," she said, "I am not fond of picnics."
"Oh, but you must go," said Mr. Dicks. "We cannot leave you at home by yourself. You shall have Paulina's bicycle if you would like to ride."
"Thank you, but I would rather not," she said. "I do not feel at all inclined to ride in this heat."
"Then you can drive with us elderly people in the sociable—there will be plenty of room," he said.
"You are very kind," she said coldly; "but I would rather stay at home."
"You shall not go unless you like, Agneta," Aunt Patty said kindly. "If you stay at home, I will stay too. It will be better for me—I hardly know how to spare the time."
But Mr. Dicks, the Colonel, and Alan Faulkner protested against this. They knew that Aunt Patty seldom allowed herself any recreation, and they had set their hearts on having her company to-day.
Agneta's face flushed as she heard them, and she said in an injured tone:
"There is not the least need for you to remain at home because I do, Mrs. Lucas. I am not a baby; I think you may trust me to take care of myself."
"Of course you can, dear—I do not doubt it for a moment," aunt said soothingly. "Still, I should not like to leave you quite alone."
In the end Agneta consented to accompany us, but she did it with a bad grace, and rather spoiled the enjoyment of some of us by her obstinate determination not to appear to be enjoying herself. She was cross with me because, by simple accident, I appeared in a frock remarkably like her own. My suit of shepherd's plaid had seen two summers' wear, and I wore it simply because it was light and cool, and so short in the skirt as to be suitable for cycling and rambling over the common. Hers was a smart, tailor-made costume, which I should have considered too good for such a day's outing. The material showed a rather larger check than mine, but they were sufficiently alike to appear similar at a little distance. If either of us had cause to feel annoyance it was I, since her dress made mine look poor. I was considerably annoyed by the disagreeable remarks she choose to make about the resemblance.
Still, I must confess that I enjoyed that picnic very much, though it was marked by no adventures, nor any particular excitement. Alan Faulkner and I on our bicycles reached the Warren long before the party who came in the wagonette. Resting on the slope of a knoll planted with firs, we awaited the arrival of the others without impatience. I found myself telling him about my sister Olive's engagement. He listened with interest, and I learned that he knew the part of India in which Percival Smythe was stationed, and could tell me much that I wanted to hear.
When the others arrived I was astonished to see that Miss Cottrell was one of the party. It was Mr. Dicks's kind thought that the fresh air on the common would be very good for her. He had consulted the doctor, who had assured him that if Miss Cottrell observed certain precautions there would not be the least fear of her conveying infection to any of us. She seemed delighted to be with us once more, and talked more than ever.
When the time came for us to return home, Alan Faulkner and I soon distanced aunt's sober horse. It was growing late as we approached "Gay Bowers." We were spinning down the road at the back of the house, when a man suddenly dropped from the boundary wall of the kitchen garden into the lane just in front of my machine, and startled me so that I almost fell off. Trees overhung the road at that point, and the light was so dim that I could perceive only that the man wore a white straw hat ere he disappeared, running rapidly beneath the trees.
"Whoever is he?" I asked, turning to Mr. Faulkner. "What can it mean?"
"That I will soon find out," he said. "You will not mind my leaving you, Miss Nan, as we are just at home."
And, scarce waiting for my permission, he was off at such speed that there was little doubt of his overtaking the stranger, however fast he might run.
When the wagonette party drove up they found me standing alone within the garden.
"Only think, auntie," I said. "We saw a man jump down from your garden wall, and run off in the most suspicious way. Mr. Faulkner is chasing him under the idea that he was there for no lawful purpose. Do you think he can be a burglar?"
"A burglar in this peaceful countryside! Impossible, Miss Nan!" exclaimed the Colonel; "but I hope Mr. Faulkner will catch him, for, depend on it, he was up to no good."
"Most likely he was after my fruit," said aunt.
As she spoke my eyes fell on Agneta, and I was startled to see how pale and fearful she looked. Aunt's eyes had followed the direction of mine, and she was equally struck by Agneta's look.
"Don't talk so lightly of burglars, Nan," she said. "You have quite frightened your cousin. Do not be alarmed, dear; you need fear no such visitation at 'Gay Bowers.'"
"I am not in the least afraid of burglars," she said almost pettishly, but I could see that her hands were trembling as they toyed with her parasol. I knew that she spoke the truth, for instinctively I guessed who the man was.
"Here comes Mr. Faulkner!" cried Miss Cottrell eagerly. "Now we shall hear all about it."
But Alan Faulkner's brief statement hardly sufficed to satisfy her curiosity.
"Oh, no, he is not a burglar," he said. "I believe he considers himself a gentleman, but he certainly took a most unwarrantable liberty."
I had never heard Alan Faulkner speak in such an angry, scornful tone, nor seen such a fire in his eyes. What did it all mean? I felt sick of these mysterious, underhand ways, and quite angry with my cousin, who disappeared as soon as she had heard what Alan had to say.
WHEN we all met at breakfast the next morning there was a good deal of laughing and joking about the burglar, as we congratulated each other that he had not disturbed our rest. Agneta took no part in it. She feigned not to hear what was going on as she studied the envelopes of the letters which lay beside her plate; but I saw that her colour had risen, and felt sure that she was not so indifferent as she appeared.
There was another person at the table who took no part in the talk. Alan Faulkner was unusually grave that morning. Suddenly glancing up, I became aware that his eyes were upon me, studying me with an earnest, questioning glance I could not understand. My eyes fell beneath it and my colour rose. I fancied there was something reproachful in his look; but, as I had done nothing to deserve this, I tried to persuade myself that my imagination was wholly at fault. Yet the mere fancy had a lowering effect upon my spirits. It was with a sense of flatness and depression that I set about my daily duties.
Ere long Agneta claimed my attention. She had risen with a headache, which increased in violence as the day wore on. In vain she struggled against it with all the power of her strong will; she had to succumb at last, and spent the afternoon lying on her bed, while I kept applying cold bandages to her forehead. At last she said that she was better and felt inclined to sleep, so I darkened the room and left her.
When I went downstairs there was no one about. I passed into the garden and found that, too, deserted. As I walked round to the back of the house I wondered where the others were. Aunt Patty, I knew, had driven into Chelmsford to do some shopping, and I believed that Mr. Dicks had accompanied her. The Colonel probably was at the Vicarage. "Gay Bowers" wore the quiet, drowsy appearance that had marked it in the days when paying guests were unknown there.
Somewhat discontentedly I wandered down the long lawns, past the tennis nets and the croquet hoops, till I reached the part of the garden devoted to vegetables and fruit. To the right lay the strawberry bed, and, seeing some ripe berries, I paused to regale myself with them. I was wearing the check skirt I had worn on the previous day. It was foolish of me, but I liked it the better because Alan Faulkner had said a word in approval of It. It seemed that he was particularly fond of that admixture of black and white.
I lingered for some minutes by the strawberry bed, and was still hunting amid the green leaves when I saw a lad, who sometimes assisted Hobbes in the garden, coming towards me. Touching his cap awkwardly, he handed me a folded slip of paper, and as he did so I saw that a shilling lay in the palm of his hand.
"The gentleman told me to give you this, miss," he said.
"What gentleman?" I asked.
"Don't know," said the boy; "none of them as is here, miss."
I looked at the paper. It appeared to be a leaf torn from a pocket-book and folded with a corner turned down. There was no address on it. Turning from the boy's curious gaze, I strolled on, opening the missive as I went. I was amazed as I read the following words:
"My Darling, I have been waiting so impatiently in the wood and wondering what had kept you, till at last I was daring enough to approach the house, and from the one place where it is possible to look over the garden wall caught a glimpse of your frock, flitting to and fro amid the bushes. Dearest, why do you waste the time, when we might be together? I have got our plans laid now, and I must tell you about them. Let me assure you that the way is clear. There in not another soul about the place. Your puritanical cousin seems to have kindly taken herself off. I am tempted to scale the wall and join you where you are; but I dare not risk being caught again, as I was last night. I will tell you about it when we meet, so make haste and join me in the wood beyond the common.""Your devoted""RALPH."
I read this extraordinary note in utter bewilderment until I came to the allusion to the "puritanical cousin," when the truth suddenly flashed on me. Why such an epithet was applied to myself I could not quite see, but I took it home, and leaped to the conclusion that the writer was Agneta's unworthy lover, who had mistaken me for her, owing to the fact of our dresses being similar. How he came to be in the neighbourhood I could not tell, but the idea that the supposed "burglar" was none other than he had struck me on the previous evening. I smiled to think how annoyed he would be, if he knew how his note had miscarried. Then I made a sudden resolve. He should know what had happened. I would go to the wood and confront him. I would tell him what I thought of his conduct, and warn him that if he continued to haunt the place I would let my aunt know of the discovery I had made. I was self-confident enough to believe that I could reason with him and persuade him to abandon a course of action which was so unworthy a true lover and gentleman.
I acted far too impulsively, as I learned to my sorrow. Waiting only to snatch my sailor hat from the peg in the back lobby where it hung, I hastened off to the common, and found my way into the wood at the nearest point to "Gay Bowers." It was the same wood, which ran down to the Wood End Oaks.
Scarcely had I reached the shadow of the trees ere I perceived the young man I came to meet. He was standing with his back to me, looking down the green glade which led to the road by which apparently he expected Agneta to come. No sooner did I see him than I experienced a sense of shame at my temerity. I might have abandoned my purpose and turned back, but the cracking of the twigs beneath my feet as I scrambled through the hedge had reached his ears. He swung round in a moment, and at the first glimpse of me a cry of delight escaped him; but the expression of his face changed almost instantly. Had I been less nervous I could have laughed at the unflattering look of annoyance which darkened his face when he perceived that I was not the one he expected.
"You did not expect to see me, Mr. Marshman," I said hastily in my embarrassment.
He lifted his hat with a grace that was Continental. I learned later that he had passed some years in a German school. He was of tall, lithe form, and bore himself with grace. His features were so handsome that I did not wonder at Agneta's infatuation, yet there was something in his face that repelled me.
"I beg your pardon," he said suavely in response to my greeting—"you have the advantage of me."
"I think not," I said. "I am Agneta's cousin—" it was with difficulty that I kept back the word "puritanical" which trembled on my tongue—"and I have come instead of her."
"Oh, really! Miss Darracott then, I presume." He lifted his hat again as he spoke. "May I ask why you have come?"
"I came to give you this," I said, holding out the slip of paper, "which I am sure you did not intend for me. You mistook my identity, I suppose."
He looked bewildered for a moment, then flushed as he took the paper.
"That being the case, you, of course, refrained from reading it, Miss Darracott?" he said in cool, quiet tones that had an edge of irony.
"Excuse me," I said, "you forget that your note bore no address. Your messenger told me that a gentleman had instructed him to give it to me. Not till I had read it could I know that it was meant for my cousin."
"Ah," he said, kicking savagely at a clump of nettles, "what an imbecile I was! But at least you must have known that there was a mistake."
"Oh, certainly," I stammered, growing scarlet as I remembered the tender epithet with which the note had begun.
"Then may I ask," he continued, "why you did not give it to your cousin when you found it was intended for her?"
"Because I prefer to return it to you," I said boldly, "and to ask you not to send such notes to Agneta, nor try to see her, when you know it is her parents' wish that you should not meet, and no good can come of such underhand ways."
"Agneta did not tell you to say that to me," he replied defiantly.
"She did not," I answered. "Agneta is far from well this afternoon, and she is lying down in her room at the present moment. She was quite otherwise occupied, as it happened, but this I could not know. I do not know how you come to be here," I added, "but I should advise you to leave this neighbourhood, and be content to wait till you can see Agneta with her parents' consent."
As I spoke I attempted to pass him, and go on my way; but, with an ironical laugh, he turned on his heel and walked beside me.
"Excuse my laughing, Miss Darracott; your words struck me as deliciously naive!" he said. "Don't you know that I might wait till doomsday before I should win that consent, since I have the misfortune to be poor, and the Redmaynes love money above all things—a characteristic that by no means renders them singular."
"You cannot be sure that their minds would not change," I said, "and I am sure it must be right for you to wait at present. It seems to me that you are bound in honour to seek no pledge from Agneta until she comes of age. You forget how young she is."
"Are you so much older, Miss Darracott?" he asked with a disagreeable smile, as he bent towards me, his dark eyes seeking mine with insolent raillery in their glance. "'Oh, wise young judge! How much more elder art thou than thy looks!'"
The blood rushed into my face. The sense of shame and humiliation which I experienced well-nigh brought the tears to my eyes. I saw how foolish it was of me to imagine that I could influence such a man as this.
He glanced away for a moment, then drew nearer to me with something so familiar and repulsive in his air that instinctively I shrank as far from him as the narrow path would permit. Without heeding the way I took, I had passed into the track that led to the stile giving access to the road. As I hastily moved away from Ralph Marshman, I was aware that Alan Faulkner stood on the other side of the stile, and was looking towards us with an indescribable expression on his face. I only saw him, and he was gone. Like a blow there fell on me the conviction that he had utterly misunderstood the state of affairs.
What could he think, indeed, on seeing me wandering along a secluded woodland path with this man beside me? How could I have been so mad as to place myself in such a position! For a moment I did not hear the words which Ralph Marshman was saying. Then he laughed in a way which made me turn my eyes on him. He was regarding me with a bold, amused glance that was in itself an insult. It seemed to me that he could read my thoughts, and knew the pain I was enduring.
"That is the learned and exemplary Professor Faulkner," he said in a mocking tone. "Do you think he was shocked to see us wandering in this wood alone? But if he is human at all he would understand—at least the apparent meaning of it, eh, Miss Darracott? He might not guess how recent is our acquaintance."
"Don't speak so, if you please!" I responded angrily. "You know I only came here to protest against the way in which you are acting! I warn you that I shall tell my aunt all that I know!"
"You don't mean that," he said with an impudent laugh. "You say it because you are angry. Well, I forgive your wrath since it is so becoming. But let me warn you that if you tell tales I can tell them too. I could tell a pretty story of how you opened another person's letter, and how you came uninvited to meet me in the wood. I advise you to keep your own counsel, Miss Darracott. Will you convey my regrets to Agneta, and tell her that, but for the pleasure of making your acquaintance, I should have been inconsolable when I heard of her indisposition? I fear we shall not meet again for a while, Miss Darracott, as I am about to leave this neighbourhood."
I made no reply as I hurried along the path and climbed the stile. I could feel that he watched me for a few moments, but when I looked back from the road I saw that he had turned in the opposite direction, and was pursuing the path that led towards Chelmsford. I hurried homewards, my cheeks burning, my pulses throbbing. I could hardly have felt much worse had I been guilty of the indiscretion which I believed Alan Faulkner had imputed to me.
"Gay Bowers" was close at hand when round a bend of the road I came suddenly upon Agneta. The colour flew into her face as she saw me. It was clear that her professed desire to sleep was merely a ruse to get rid of me, and she was now hurrying to keep her appointment with Ralph Marshman.
"It is too late, Agneta!" I said. "He is gone."
"What do you mean?" she asked nervously, and the flush faded from her face as quickly as it had risen, till she looked ready to drop. "Where have you been?"
"In the wood talking with Mr. Ralph Marshman," I replied. "And I wish enough I had never gone near him. He is a horrid man, Agneta!"
A scene ensued which was to the credit of neither of us. In my sore mortification I lost control of my temper, and said words that were better unsaid. I reproached my cousin with deceitful and even unmaidenly conduct. I told her that the man for whose sake she seemed ready to risk the priceless pearl of her good name was no gentleman, and that he was not worthy of a girl's respect, still less her love. I told her that although I had promised to say nothing to Aunt Patty about the love story she had confided to me, things had now come to such a pass that I felt I had a right to claim release from that promise. A higher obligation compelled me to inform aunt of what was going on, and I gave her warning that I meant to lay the whole matter before Aunt Patty at the earliest opportunity.
Agneta did not receive my rebukes with meekness. She reproached me in her turn with considerable bitterness. Very hard were the words she hurled at me. I was a prude, a mischief-maker, a Pharisee, and a sneak. The last epithet made me wince. I did so hate all meanness in word or deed, that the injustice of this last judgment stung me. But I held my ground in spite of it. The issue was too grave for me lightly to give way. I felt it as incumbent on me to save Agneta from herself as if I had seen her in a fit of madness about to throw herself over a precipice. When at last she saw that I would not yield, Agneta, wholly exhausted by her passionate outburst, sank on a bank by the roadside and began to cry. I felt very uneasy as I watched her. My attempts to soothe her met with little success.
"You are so unkind, Nan," she sobbed. "You want to make me miserable, and it is so horrid of you, just when I was looking forward to the garden party to-morrow. You might wait till that is over before you tell Mrs. Lucas. You will upset her as well as me, and spoil everything."
I was amazed to hear Agneta speak so. What a child she was, to be sure! How could I take her love trouble seriously, when I found her in the midst of her distress giving a thought to this garden party, to which we were all invited for the morrow? I knew that Aunt Patty was looking forward to going to the Canfields' entertainment accompanied by most of her paying guests; but I had no idea that Agneta was counting on it so much, although I knew she had bought a new hat for the occasion. While I mused on it, Agneta spoke again.
"Oh, do, Nan!" she said pleadingly, looking up at me with tears in her blue eyes. "Do promise me that you will say nothing to Mrs. Lucas till the party is over!"
For a moment I hesitated. Surely the delay could do no harm, since I believed that Ralph Marshman was leaving Chelmsford this evening. The sound of wheels on the quiet road decided me. I did not wish that any one should see my cousin crying there by the wayside.
"Very well," I said; "I promise on condition that you stop crying at once, and walk on like a reasonable being."
Agneta's face brightened instantly. She rose, and, slipping her hand within my arm, as though she felt the need of support, began to walk at a pace which soon brought us within the gate of "Gay Bowers."
WE gained the house without encountering anybody. Agneta went upstairs at once, while I hastened to get her a cup of tea. Entering the dining-room, I found Alan Faulkner seated there taking tea in solitude. I started at seeing him, and a hot tide of colour rose in my face. I would have given anything not to have blushed at that moment. The belief that my access of colour would be interpreted as a symptom of inward shame heightened my confusion till I felt that I was crimson to the roots of my hair.
"Oh," I said stupidly, "are you having tea alone?"
"Yes," he said. "Jenny insisted on bringing me some. She said all the others were out."
"I hope she made it properly," I said.
"It is very nice," he replied. "Let me give you some?"
"No, thank you, I will not have any just now," I responded awkwardly; "but I will take a cup for Agneta. She has a headache."
I began to prepare a little tray to carry upstairs, and he helped me deftly. It had been a surprise to me to discover that such a learned man could be so handy and practical in everyday matters.
I went upstairs and remained with Agneta until she had taken her tea. I expected that Mr. Faulkner would have quitted the dining-room ere my return, but when I came back with the tray, he was still there, doing nothing more profitable than playing with Sweep.
"I poured out a cup for you, Miss Nan," he said as I entered. "I know you do not like strong tea, but now I am afraid you will find it cold. Let me ring for some fresh tea?"
"This will do nicely, thank you," I said constrainedly as I seated myself at the table.
He had moved to the window, and sat there in such a position that I only caught a side view of him. Sweep's forepaws were on his knee, and he was stroking the dog's ears with a regular, even movement, which appeared to be equally agreeable to them both.
"Why could he not go away and leave me to take my tea in peace?" I thought, as I waited nervously for him to speak. I tried hard to appear at my ease as I sipped my tea, but I was far from being so. I longed to break into careless talk, but somehow I could think of nothing to say.
Gradually I became aware that he was scarcely less embarrassed than I was. Once or twice, he shot a grave, inquiring glance at me, and seemed about to speak, but nothing came of it. When at last he spoke, his words gave me a shock.
"That was Mr. Ralph Marshman whom I saw with you in the wood, Miss Nan."
"It was," was all I could say, while, to my vexation, I felt myself flushing again.
"He was at Cambridge with me," he said.
"You know him then?" was my reply.
"My acquaintance with him was of the slightest description," he replied emphatically. "He was in his first year, and I had finished my college course."
I was silent, for I felt myself in a dilemma. For Agneta's sake I should have liked to question him concerning Mr. Ralph Marshman; but if I did so he would imagine that I took a personal interest in the young man. Indeed, I much feared that already that idea had possession of his mind. I longed to explain the true state of affairs, but I could not betray Agneta's secret. I was bound to keep silence, but I realised with a sinking heart that my promise was likely to cost me dear.
An awkward silence had lasted for some minutes, when Alan Faulkner said in a low, deep voice, that seemed to vibrate with some subtle emotion:
"I wonder, Miss Nan, if I dare take the privilege of a friend, and venture to give you a warning."
"Of course, I shall be happy for you to speak to me as a friend," I said, as he waited for me to reply; "but you are mistaken in supposing that I need a warning."
"Ah, you do not know," he said quickly; "you are young, Miss Nan, and may be easily deceived by a specious manner and good appearance. I hate to speak against people. It seems mean to rake up the errors of a man's past. If I thought he had reformed, I would not say a word; but as it is, I think you ought to know that while I was at the University Ralph Marshman made himself notorious by a course of conduct which resulted in his being sent down. I—I hardly know how to tell you, but it was something more than a mad escapade, the outcome of youthful riot; he acted in a way that showed him to be utterly unprincipled and dishonourable to a degree. Forgive me if I give you pain."
Of course, he said it with the kindest intention; but his thus taking it for granted that I was so deeply interested in Ralph Marshman made me unreasonably angry. His words certainly caused my heart to quiver with pain; but in a way that he could not understand. At the same time they kindled within me such a fire of passionate indignation as led me to exclaim, in a voice unlike my own: "Pain! How can you give me pain, Mr. Faulkner? I can assure you that is beyond your power; but it amazes me that you should thus misjudge another."
I paused, for my voice had grown husky. I found myself on the point of bursting into tears. Alan Faulkner had turned on the window seat, and was looking at me with eyes full of pain, and with something of reproach in them too, it seemed to me. The next moment there was the sound of wheels on the gravel outside, and the wagonette drove up to the door containing Aunt Patty, Mr. Dicks, and innumerable parcels.
Instantly I sprang up, welcoming the diversion. Choking down my emotion, I ran out. As I busied myself in helping aunt out and collecting the parcels, I assumed an animation at which I secretly marvelled. Was I too becoming an adept at dissimulation? As I chattered away to Mr. Dicks, or questioned aunt as to what she had done, my heart was like lead, yet it seemed to me that I played my part well. I did not deceive Aunt Patty, however. She looked at me more than once with an intentness that made me uncomfortable, and at last she said:
"What is the matter with you, Nan? You don't seem yourself somehow. Have you been ministering to Agneta, till you have got a headache from force of sympathy?"
"Not exactly," I replied, thankful that Mr. Faulkner had taken himself off ere aunt made this remark: "but the weather is trying, don't you think? It seems so hot and oppressive this afternoon."
"I have not found it so," said Aunt Patty; "there was a nice breeze driving."
"If you'd lived in New York, Miss Nan, I guess you wouldn't call this a hot day," said Josiah Dicks; "I wonder what Pollie would say to it. Do you know that she is sitting up to-day? I saw her, bless her heart! And she waved her hand to her old dad from the window."
"Yes, I know. Auntie told me. I am so glad," I said, trying hard to seem glad, while I secretly felt as if gladness and I had parted company for ever. Then I went away. My bedroom, unfortunately, was no longer a place of refuge for me, so I turned into Paulina's deserted room, which had been thoroughly disinfected after she quitted it. I sat down, and tried to review the situation calmly; but my thoughts were like goads, and soon drove me to pacing the floor in a restless anguish which sought relief in movement. I was angry with Alan Faulkner and angry with myself. What right had he to leap to the conclusion that I was attracted by Ralph Marshman? It was intolerable that he should imagine him to be my lover. My face burned with shame as I thought of it, and I reproached myself bitterly for the ill-considered action which had placed me in such a false position. That he should think it necessary to warn me that the man was unworthy!
My mind found no relief as I recalled all that had passed between us. I had said not a word that could remove the impression which he had received. Now that it was too late, I thought of many a neatly-turned, significant phrase which might have convinced him of his mistake without revealing my cousin's folly. Why had I dumbly submitted to the imputation? Why had the few words I had uttered been so passionately incoherent? Ah! I knew but too well how it was. The discovery that he had so misunderstood me dealt me a blow which deprived me of the power to defend myself. No one's good opinion would I less willingly lose than that of Alan Faulkner. And I had lost it—lost it, as I feared, for ever, through my own blind folly!
The sound of the dressing-bell roused me from my bitter musings. Wearily, heavily I went to prepare for dinner. It is no exaggeration to say that I felt at that hour as if I could never know happiness, or even comfort, again.
Agneta was already dressed when I entered our room. Her face was flushed. She looked pretty and excited. Her mood too had changed. She persisted in discussing all kinds of trifles with me as I made my toilette, till in my irritation I could hardly refrain from bidding her hold her tongue. And this was the girl who had seemed broken-hearted a little while before! I reflected that she could have no depth of character. Her tears had arisen from mere surface emotion. She could not really care greatly for Ralph Marshman. And it was for the sake of such a one that I was stung with sharpest self-reproach and suffered such a cruel sense of loss. I was far from loving my cousin as I followed her downstairs that evening.
My head ached, and I had little appetite as I seated myself at the table. I saw aunt glance at me and then at Agneta, who had quite regained her spirits, and was chatting with Colonel Hyde. When I ventured to turn my eyes on Alan Faulkner it struck me that he looked grave and stern. Beyond making a few remarks to Aunt Patty in a subdued tone, he contributed little to the conversation. Once I caught a searching glance from him, beneath which my eyes sank involuntarily.
The next moment an indignant sense of the injustice of his judgment rallied my spirit. Why should I be ashamed, when I had no true cause for shame? If I had acted unwisely in meeting Ralph Marshman in the wood, my intention had been good. I had done nothing that I should fear to confess to mother. Oh, how I longed for the time when I could tell her all about it!
With that I lifted my head, and, making a desperate effort to appear lighthearted, I began to talk with Mr. Dicks. A strange mood took possession of me, and I laughed and talked with a flippancy of which I was afterwards heartily ashamed. My liveliness outran Agneta's. I said such foolish things that aunt looked at me in astonishment. I believe she thought I had caught Paulina's fever. I could not have acted more foolishly. I was taking the best means of confirming the ill opinion of me I believed Alan Faulkner had formed. The cloud on his brow darkened. He appeared to pay little heed to what was passing about him, yet instinct told me that he heard every word I uttered. When dessert was placed on the table, he asked Aunt Patty to excuse him, as he had some work he wanted to finish. He went away, and the burden of despondency settled again upon my spirit, more intense than before.
I had never been so wretched as I was that night. I was entangled in a mesh of adverse circumstances from which I was powerless to extricate myself. I lay down feeling sure that there could be little sleep for me. Throughout the hours of the night the same poignant thoughts tortured me. Yet I was not without hope. Surely the morrow must bring relief. I determined to make an effort to right myself in Alan Faulkner's estimation. He had, I knew, accepted Mrs. Canfield's invitation to her garden party. During the hours we should spend in those beautiful grounds, I could hope to find an opportunity of saying a few quiet words to Alan Faulkner, which, without compromising Agneta would convince him that Ralph Marshman was no friend of mine.
Round this idea my thoughts finally gathered as the weary night passed away. Agneta's restless movements made me doubt if she were sleeping much more than I, but I never addressed a word to her. I found it hard to forgive her for the mischief she had wrought.
Day was dawning ere the first gleam of true comfort visited my soul. It came with a memory of Holy Writ. "If our heart condemn us, God is greater than our heart, and knoweth all things." My heart did condemn me for folly and mistake, but not for the moral ugliness and dissimulation which I believed were imputed to me. And God knew all things! However others might misjudge me, there was perfect comprehension, perfect justice for me with Him. Why had I not carried my sense of wrong to Him, instead of resenting my injury with weapons of pride and indignation which had only recoiled against myself? I had longed for the comfort of mother's sympathy, and all the while there was a stronger, mightier Love, a Love which knew those hidden recesses of my heart that I could hardly have laid bare even to her, and the arms of that love were outstretched to draw me near! Weak, helpless, crying like a child, I crept into the embrace of that love, and found rest. As the birds began to chirp beneath the eaves I fell asleep.
When I came into the breakfast-room the next morning, rather later than usual, Mr. Dicks cheerily congratulated me on its being such a fine day for the garden party.
"It is just the kind of weather you young ladies like," he said; "fine and warm enough for you to wear your muslins and laces without a fear. How my Pollie would have enjoyed it! However, she will enjoy going to the seaside before long, if all goes well. The doctor says he will soon give us permission to shift our quarters."
I hardly know how I replied to him, for at the same moment there fell on my ears the voice of Alan Faulkner saying to Aunt Patty in clear, incisive tones:
"I must write a note to Mrs. Canfield, and beg her to excuse me this afternoon. I am obliged to go to town to-day on important business."
"Oh, what a pity!" Aunt Patty exclaimed, with genuine regret in her tones. "Mrs. Canfield will be so disappointed."
"I think not," he said with a shake of the head. "Out of a hundred guests she can surely spare one."
"That may be, but not such a one," was aunt's reply. "I know that both she and the Squire were looking forward to seeing you."
Alan Faulkner smiled incredulously. For a learned professor, he was wonderfully deficient in a sense of his own importance.
"Is there no help for it?" aunt asked.
"None," he replied. "I must go, and by the first train, too."
My heart sank within me as I realised that the hope to which I had clung during the wakeful hours of the night was doomed to disappointment. Not yet was I to be reinstated in the estimation of my friend. Unconsciously I had cherished many pleasurable anticipations of the day's festivity. Now I shrank from the thought of it, but I little foresaw how different from my preconceptions everything would be.
GREENTREE HALL, the residence of Squire Canfield, as the countryfolk called him, was situated not more than a quarter of a mile from "Gay Bowers," measuring the distance as the crow flies. The entrance gates and pretty thatched lodge stood midway between the Vicarage and the village green. A fine avenue of elms led up to the Hall, which had been the home of Canfields for many generations. The present owner of the property, a man verging on old age, was a worthy descendant of the good old family.
John Canfield was justly proud of his venerable house and beautiful grounds. He employed several gardeners, and could boast the best-kept gardens in the neighbourhood. His head gardener was wont to win the chief prizes at most of the local flower shows. The extensive conservatories belonging to Greentree Hall were well worth seeing, and when they were in the perfection of their beauty the Squire would invite all his friends and acquaintances for many miles round to come and see them. The garden party, for which Mrs. Canfield issued invitations every June, was a festivity much appreciated in the locality, and by no means despised by town folk, for a good many visitors came from London by the mid-day express to assist at it. Mrs. Canfield was generally fortunate in having good weather for her entertainment. Never could she have had a more brilliant day than this promised to be.
Aunt Patty needed my help in various ways that morning, and I was glad to be well occupied. I saw hardly anything of Agneta before luncheon. She kept upstairs, and I fancied she was engaged in arranging some details of her dress for the afternoon. Mrs. Canfield, with whom Aunt Patty was on the most neighbourly terms, had begged her to bring her young people early, as she wanted our assistance in starting the games.
Her own daughters were both married; one, the wife of an Essex M.P., was coming from town with her husband for the day. Aunt Patty had promised that we would be there by three o'clock, for which hour the guests were invited.
My toilette was quickly made—a short, light skirt and a pretty blouse, specially designed by Olive for the occasion, gave me an agreeable sense of being suitably attired.
"You look as nice as possible, Nan," Agneta said, casting a careless glance at me as she fastened her shoe-string. "One cannot be very smart when one is expected to play tennis."
"Nevertheless you seem to have achieved it," I said as I looked at her. She was dressed as I had not seen her before—in a short skirt and smart little coat of white serge, with gold buttons and gold braiding on collar and cuffs. Her vest was of pale blue silk, daintily finished with lace, and her simple white hat completed a costume which was in remarkably good taste for my cousin. "I never saw you more becomingly dressed."
She laughed, and her face flushed with pleasure. "Thank you," she said. "I am glad you approve; it is something to win a compliment from you."
Her trouble of yesterday seemed entirely to have vanished, unless her excessive nervousness were a trace of it. It must be weakness that made her lips twitch so strangely as she talked, and the fingers with which she was tying her shoe strings tremble so much that she was very slow in securing them.
As I observed her I heard Aunt Patty's voice from below, crying:
"Come, girls, are you ready? It is time we went."
"You are ready, are you not, Agneta?" I said.
"Oh, yes—only—I must find another handkerchief," she replied. "Don't wait for me, Nan—I'll overtake you. I know the way through the fields."
I ran downstairs, and told Aunt Patty that Agneta would be there in a minute. Apparently the handkerchief was hard to find, for though we waited several minutes she did not come. At last we passed into the garden. We had no intention of walking by the road. We had only to go through the orchard and across two fields beyond, and we were in Greentree Park. So aunt and I strolled slowly on. Colonel Hyde and Mr. Dicks would follow later, but we knew that Mrs. Canfield would like us to be there when her guests began to arrive.
"What can be keeping Agneta?" I said when we reached the end of the first field. We waited, looking impatiently towards "Gay Bowers," but she did not appear. "I must run back and hurry her," I said at last. "She has not been to the Hall before, so I cannot leave her to follow alone. Don't wait for us, auntie."
"I suppose you had better go back," said aunt reluctantly, "but don't make yourself hot by running. I will walk on slowly."
In spite of aunt's warning, I retraced my steps pretty quickly. Nothing was to be seen of Agneta. I called to her as I entered the house, but received no reply. I hurried upstairs to our room; it was unoccupied. Hastening downstairs again, I encountered Jenny, our housemaid.
"Miss Redmayne has gone, miss," she said. "I saw her go out of the gate a few minutes ago."
"Out of the gate," I repeated. "Do you mean that she went by the road? Whatever made her do that? It is much farther."
"So I thought, miss," replied Jenny. "I wondered she should take that way, with all the dust there'll be from the vehicles coming along presently. She had her dust-cloak on her arm, though."
"Her dust-cloak!" I exclaimed. "You must be mistaken, Jenny. My cousin would not be likely to carry a dust-cloak to the Hall."
"I was surprised myself, miss, to see Miss Redmayne with it, but she certainly did take it," Jenny persisted.
"How very strange!" I said, amazed that Agneta should exhibit such unusual and, to my mind, absurd carefulness on this occasion. "Well, it is no good my following her along the road. If I go across the fields I shall be there almost as soon as she is."
As I spoke a carriage full of ladies drove past our gate, and I could hear another vehicle following it. People were coming early, determined to have a long and pleasant afternoon. I turned back, feeling annoyed with my cousin, and was by no means cool when I reached the Park. I saw Aunt Patty in the midst of a group on the lawn, but Agneta was not with her. Before I could look about for my cousin, Mrs. Canfield met me, greeted me kindly, and asked me to go and see if the croquet hoops were properly set. They were not quite at the right distances, and I was hurriedly altering them when a strong hand took the last one from my grasp, and fixed it for me. With pleasure I perceived that Jack Upsher had come to my assistance.
"You here, Jack!" I exclaimed. "Then the exam is over?"
"Rather!" he said. "But I could not get away till twelve o'clock to-day. I have hardly been home half-an-hour, but I was not going to miss this social function if I could help it."
"Really," I said, "You astonish me! This is something new. It seems only the other day that you were saying how stupid you found this festivity last year."
"And so I did," he coolly replied. "You were not here last year, Nan. That fact makes all the difference."
"Oh, I dare say!" I responded with a laugh. "You don't think my vanity is equal to swallowing that? By the by, did you see anything of Agneta as you came through the grounds?"
"No," he said. "Why? Have you lost your cousin?"
"Hardly that," I said with a smile; "but I have missed her somehow, and I am afraid she may be feeling lonely as she knows hardly any one here. We will go and look for her. But now tell me how you got on in your exam."
"Oh, don't ask me, Nan!" he groaned. "You may expect to hear that I am ploughed again."
"Nonsense I shall expect nothing of the kind," was my reply. "You might tell me how you think you have done."
"Oh, badly," he said, "though I am not without a faint hope that I may squeeze through. I sincerely hope it may be so, for the governor's sake. I say, where's that crank of a professor?"
As he spoke we had come round to the front of the Hall, and saw before us a party on the lawn. The number of the guests had increased considerably, but I looked in vain for Agneta.
"I don't know what you mean," I said stiffly. Then I saw Aunt Patty coming towards me with the evident intention of addressing me.
"Nan," she said as she came up, "what about Agneta?"
"What about her?" I repeated stupidly, as I glanced around. "She is not here?"
"Of course not," said Aunt Patty quickly, "but you saw her—how is she?"
"I did not see her," was my reply; "Jenny said she had started."
"Then what is the meaning of this, which a servant has just brought me?" aunt asked, holding out an envelope as she spoke. Within, hastily pencilled on a slip of paper, were the words:
"Dear Mrs. Lucas,—I am sorry to say that I cannot come. My headis bad. Please express my regret to Mrs. Canfield.""AGNETA."
I was amazed. Agneta had made no complaint of headache to me, nor had she seemed to be suffering in any way. One wild conjecture after another presented itself to my mind with lightning speed, and I suppose my expression betrayed something of what was passing within, for Aunt Patty exclaimed hastily:
"What is it, Nan? Of what are you thinking? Why do you look like that?"
"Oh, nothing," I replied hurriedly, "but I must go; I must find out what is wrong with Agneta."
"Yes, do," said my aunt; "walking in the sun may have upset her and obliged her to turn back. Go quickly, dear, and, if she should seem really ill, be sure to send word to me."
"I will come with you," said Jack.
"You will do nothing of the kind," I replied. "You will stay and start some games of tennis and croquet, and help Mrs. Canfield, as I promised to do, until I come back."
"Oh, I say—" he began; but I waved him away, and was off for the nearest exit from the Park. I needed no urging to haste. Once within the fields, I ran at my utmost speed, for a painful suspicion had taken possession of my mind. Had I fallen into a snare when I agreed to say nothing to Aunt Patty about Ralph Marshman till this day was over?
I reached the house and tore upstairs to our bedroom. Agneta was not there. Everything belonging to her was left in perfect order. A hasty glance round convinced me that she had been gathering her things together and arranging them with a certain method and purpose.
I had now no fear that my cousin was ill. A very different explanation forced itself upon my mind. So strong was this conviction that I did not wait to search the house. After one futile call, unheard even by the servants, who had betaken themselves to the garden, and were watching from behind the trees the unusual traffic along the quiet country road, I got out my bicycle, mounted it, and rode at full speed for Chelmsford.
I felt desperate as I sped along the road. For the first time in my career as a cyclist I was guilty of "scorching." Agneta must have had fully half-an-hour's start of me. How she had gone I could not tell; probably she had availed herself of one of the conveyances returning from Greentree Hall. I knew that a train left Chelmsford for London some time between three and four o'clock, and by this I imagined that she would travel, for I had made up my mind that she was bent on elopement. If only I could get to the station before that train started! It hardly seemed possible that I could be in time.
I had never ridden so hard before, and I certainly never felt so ashamed of myself. I kept meeting carriages carrying guests to the garden party. With many of the people I was doubtless acquainted, but I looked neither to the right nor left as I rode on, mechanically steering my way as directly as possible. How thankful I was that my machine was such a splendid runner! I got over the ground at a record pace. I dimly wondered, as I passed each conveyance, whether the people it carried would think me mad, or imagine that sudden illness or accident was the cause of my thus rushing into town. Those who recognised me would assuredly think it very strange that I should be going from Greentree in such haste on that afternoon.
But now I was coming into the town, and it behoved me to ride more circumspectly, if I would not get into trouble. I heard a church clock strike the half-hour, and felt sure that I should miss the train unless it were behind time, which might possibly happen, as it came up from Ipswich, and I believed it was market day there. The way to the station seemed to have mysteriously lengthened out; but I turned the corner at last, and saw the booking-office before me.
The train was just coming in as I sprang from my bicycle and gave it into the care of a porter. I got my ticket and rushed on to the platform. My eyes fell on Agneta, wrapped in her long grey dust-cloak, just as she was stepping into a carriage. A porter was closing the door. By an imperious sign, I bade him hold it open, and, running up, sprang breathless into the compartment just as the train began to move. As I sank panting on to a seat opposite to my cousin, she uttered a cry of surprise and dismay.