Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
ALDYTH'S INHERITANCE
BY
EGLANTON THORNE
AUTHOR OF "THE OLD WORCESTER JUG," "IDA NICOLARI,"
"THE MANSE OF GLEN CLUNIE," "THE TWO CROWNS," ETC.
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
56, PATERNOSTER ROW; 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD
AND 164 PICCADILLY
RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON AND BUNGAY.
CONTENTS.
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CHAPTER
I. THE BLAND FAMILY
II. A NOVEL INTRODUCTION
III. GUY LORRAINE
IV. A LECTURE ON POETRY
V. A DAY AT WYNDHAM HALL
VI. DISAPPOINTMENT
VII. A MISCHIEF-MAKER
VIII. GOSSIP AND MISCONCEPTION
IX. MR. STEPHEN LORRAINE COMES TO AN UNDERSTANDING WITH HIS HEIR
X. HILDA BLAND'S PARTY
XI. CHRISTMAS AT WYNDHAM
XII. MR. LORRAINE SENDS FOR HIS SOLICITOR
XIII. SORROW AND JOY
XIV. A LONG-DEFERRED HOPE IS REALIZED
XV. ALDYTH WAKES FROM A DREAM
XVI. CONTRASTS
XVII. HILDA IS HAPPY
XVIII. A SUMMONS TO WYNDHAM
XIX. THE MISTRESS OF WYNDHAM
XX. UNWELCOME CHANGES COME IN FORTUNE'S TRAIN
XXI. GUY MAKES A DISCOVERY
XXII. A STRICKEN HEROINE AND A SHAMELESS SUITOR
XXIII. LOSSES AND GAINS
XXIV. A SECRET SORROW
XXV. HOW MRS. STANTON SPENT HER FIRST AFTERNOON AT WYNDHAM
XXVI. A FAREWELL
XXVII. AN ACCIDENT IN THE HUNTING-FIELD
XXVIII. KITTY SHOWS THE STRENGTH OF HER CHARACTER
XXIX. A MIND DISEASED
XXX. THE WRONG DISCLOSED
XXXI. HOW GUY WAS PACIFIED
XXXII. THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS
ALDYTH'S INHERITANCE.
CHAPTER I.
THE BLAND FAMILY.
MRS. BLAND'S house stood in the High Street of the little town of
Woodham. It was an old-fashioned, sedate-looking house, with a
bow-window projecting on each side of the front door, and two rows
of white-curtained windows above; but there was nothing prim about
the garden which lay at the back of the house. This garden, with its
wealth of sweet-scented flowers, its fruit trees, its sunflowers and
hollyhocks standing out in rich contrast to the mellow red of the
old walls, was a delightful place in which to spend a warm September
afternoon.
About the middle of the garden, and bordering at its lower end the
portion which, though not devoid of beauty, was obviously devoted
to utility, was a strip of lawn shaded by trees. Here, on such an
afternoon, Hilda Bland was lying, very much at her ease, in a hammock
suspended between two sturdy trunks. She had a book in her hand, but
reading was impossible, since Kate was on the path close by, chattering
fast as she gathered flowers, and Gwen, her younger sister, was
displaying great energy in her attempts to shake or knock down some of
the ripe greengages that were visible at the top of the tall tree to
which one end of the hammock was fastened.
"You won't get them that way, Gwen," cried Kate, as her sister threw a
rake handle at the top of the tree, and it came rattling down through
the branches.
"You are far more likely to break my head," said Hilda, from the
hammock, "and you shake me dreadfully. You might have a little respect
for my feelings."
"Nonsense; you are so lazy, Hilda! If you were anything of a sister,
you would come and help me."
"Thanks for the suggestion, dear," said Hilda, sweetly, "but I prefer
remaining where I am." And she threw herself back upon the cushions
with an air of indolent grace.
At all times Hilda had rather a languid air. Of slender form, below
the middle height, with a colourless complexion, and features regular
and delicately formed, she had a frail appearance beside her more
robust-looking sisters; but, in truth, her health was as good as
theirs. Mrs. Bland used to boast that her girls were never ill, thanks
to the care with which she had followed the common sense rules for the
rearing of his children laid down by her deceased husband, who had
practised as a surgeon at Woodham. There was a dreamy, absent look in
Hilda's large blue eyes, which some persons found interesting, and
others quite the reverse. To the unimaginative it was a sleepy, stupid
look; but the more discerning saw in it the sign of a thoughtful,
reflective nature.
There was but the faintest resemblance between Hilda and Kate, who was
eighteen months older. No one could be less dreamy or indolent than
Kate, or, as she was more often called, Kitty. With black hair, keen
dark eyes, and a warm brown complexion, now, at the end of the summer,
deepened to a gipsy-like hue, she looked very much alive. Her form was
sturdy, though trim, her features of a decided character, the nose of
the Roman type, the chin well rounded and somewhat prominent, the mouth
firm, though ready enough to break into smiles. She was the eldest of
Mrs. Bland's family of four, and had passed her twenty-second birthday,
but strangers often took her for younger than Hilda, there was so much
of the child about Kitty still. Hilda was the quiet one of the family,
fond of reading and dreaming. Kitty was seldom still. She seemed made
for a country life, and was as happy in the rigours of winter as in
the summer's prime. Riding, rowing, skating, there were few healthy
exercises in which she did not excel. Of the liveliest temperament, she
was a great talker and rather satirical, but happily her nature was too
sound and warm for her satire to be tinged with malice or envy.
"I wish Charlie would come," she said presently, as she flitted to and
fro amongst the flowers; "it chimed four ever so long ago. There, the
quarter is striking now."
"Did you ever know Charlie come straight home from school?" asked
Hilda, as she turned over the leaves of her Browning. "Why are you in
such a hurry to see him?"
"Oh, you know! I am dying to hear about that new master. The arrival of
a stranger at Woodham is such an event."
"Is there a new master?" asked Hilda, indifferently.
"Oh, Hilda! How stupid you are! Don't you know that Mr. Ferris was
to leave at the end of last term, and did you not hear Miss Lorraine
say the other day that a gentleman from London was coming to take his
place—a B.A. of Cambridge, she said he was?"
"I did not hear it," said Hilda; "but Miss Lorraine has always so much
to say, I cannot pretend to listen to every word."
"Well, I should think you might have listened to that," returned Kate,
whilst Gwen paused for a moment in her futile efforts to bring down the
greengages, and turned to hear what her sisters were saying.
"Why? What about him? What is his name, and what has he to do with us?"
asked Hilda, anxious to get information as speedily as possible, that
she might resume her reading.
"I have not heard his name, and I do not know that he has anything to
do with us," said Kate, rather lamely; "but I hope, for Charlie's sake,
that he is nice; and, of course, I should like to know whether he goes
in for boating and that sort of thing, and would be likely to join our
tennis club."
"Oh, you are thinking of the tennis," said Hilda, languidly; but the
next moment she started up with an exclamation of pleasure, as she saw
who was coming down the path from the house, accompanied by Mrs. Bland.
The visitor was a tall, slight girl, wearing a fresh cotton gown and
a wide straw hat, as simply dressed as a girl could be, yet with a
certain becoming grace peculiar to the wearer. You might not have known
at first sight whether Aldyth Lorraine was to be considered pretty; but
you would have felt in an instant that she was charming.
Her features were neither regular nor delicately moulded. The chin was
too long, the mouth too large, the lips perhaps a trifle too full for
beauty; but when the lips parted they displayed the most white and
perfect teeth, and her smile revealed the sweetness of a frank and
loving nature. The large-brimmed hat hid the broad, finely-arched brow
and the dark brown hair which rippled back from it, but could not dim
the merry, happy light that shone in the grey eyes. There could be
no question as to the beauty of those eyes, long in shape, of a deep
violet-grey hue, and shaded by long dark lashes. But, whilst we may
attempt to describe features, what words can give the charm of a sweet
girl's face? Aldyth's had a charm which won many hearts. But perhaps
the charm was rather in herself than in her face. That was winsome,
because her heart was tender and true and sympathetic, full of kind
feelings towards every one she met.
"To think of my finding you all at home!" exclaimed Aldyth. "I felt
sure you would be at tennis this lovely afternoon, and that I should
have a quiet chat with Mrs. Bland."
"I am sorry for your disappointment," said Kitty; "but there has been
nothing to hinder your having a quiet talk with mother. The fact is,
Clara Dawtrey has a party of her friends on the ground this afternoon."
Kitty's lip curled as she spoke.
Aldyth's quick little nod expressed perfect comprehension.
"What a pity that girl is so loud in her manners," she remarked. "I
feel sometimes as if I should like to give her a little hint, but I
suppose it would do more harm than good. Aunt says that if she only
knew the things that are said of her, even by the gentlemen she counts
her admirers, she would alter her ways."
As she spoke, Aldyth was lifting a chair out of the summerhouse at the
end of the lawn for Mrs. Bland.
"Gwen," cried Kitty, who had her hands too full of flowers to render
assistance, "do you see what Aldyth is doing? How rude you are! It is
time you went back to school."
"Never mind, Gwen," said Aldyth, laughing, as the girl rushed up too
late to be of use; "it won't kill me to lift a chair. And it is cruel
of Kitty to remind you that Monday is so near. Charlie has gone back to
school to-day, has he not?"
"Oh, that is nothing; I wish I only went to a day-school," said Gwen,
a big girl of fifteen; "but is not Kitty curious? She is dying to
question Charlie about the new master. Do you know anything about him?"
"Some one else is curious, I think," said Aldyth, merrily. "All I know
of him is that he is named John Glynne, and Aunt Lucy is trying to
persuade herself that he is one of the Glynnes of Norfolk, and that she
went to school with his mother. Ah, here is Charlie; now we shall hear."
A boy of twelve, satchel in hand, came bounding down the garden. But,
boy-like, Charlie would yield but meagre replies to the questions with
which the girls plied him.
Yes, he had seen Mr. Glynne, of course. He had taken their class for
Latin, and they were to read Shakespeare with him on Friday afternoons.
He did not know that Mr. Glynne was any different from other masters;
he did not like him so well as Mr. Ferris. He had given them a lot to
prepare, and he had come down "like a load of bricks" on one boy, whom
he had caught with a book open beneath his desk. He said it was as bad
as stealing to take the credit of knowing a lesson which had not been
studied, and that he had hoped he was going to teach manly boys, and
not "sneaks."
"He is quite right," said Mrs. Bland, warmly. "I hate to hear of boys
doing such deceitful things. Charlie, it would grieve me beyond words
to express if I thought you could act in such a way. But I am not
afraid. I believe that my boy will always be true and straightforward
in his conduct."
"All right, mother," said Charlie, hastily. "But, please, I want
that half-crown you promised me. I'm off to Stubbs' now, about those
rabbits." And no more information concerning the new master was to be
drawn from him.
"Tiresome young monkey!" cried Kate, as Charlie ran off with his
half-crown. "Aldyth, you have no idea how provoking a young brother can
be. You have no brothers or sisters to trouble you."
"I have a brother and sisters," said Aldyth, "though they cannot
certainly be said to trouble me."
"To be sure! I always forget those relatives of yours on the other side
of the world," said Kate, carelessly. "I must say I could not feel much
affection for half-brothers and sisters whom I had never seen."
"But I hope to see them some day," said Aldyth, colouring as she spoke;
"and I write to them, and they write to me sometimes. I should be sorry
to feel as if I did not belong to them. But I must be going. I only
looked in to ask Mrs. Bland if I had bought the right kind of wool that
mother wants me to send her."
"Oh, Aldyth, don't go yet!" exclaimed Hilda, springing up in the
hammock, and well-nigh overbalancing herself. "Do try the hammock;
it's delicious this afternoon. A thousand apologies for not asking you
before."
"Not now, thank you, Hilda," said Aldyth; "I have my letter to finish
for the mail."
Though Aldyth was on the friendliest terms with all the Bland family,
Hilda was especially her friend. The two girls walked arm-in-arm to the
garden door, and after a prolonged good-bye there, Hilda came back to
her mother and sisters.
"Kitty," she said, "you should not have said that about Aldyth's
relatives. I am sure you hurt her, for she thinks so much of them all.
She is always writing to them, and she never forgets one of their
birthdays, though they sometimes forget hers."
"I am very sorry," said Kitty; "but really it is absurd to suppose that
she can care as much for her brother and sisters as if they had been
brought up together."
"She may not care in the same way, but she certainly loves them; and as
for her mother, it seems to me that Aldyth simply worships the mother
whom she has never seen."
"She must have seen her," said Kate.
"Of course; but you need not be so absurdly literal, Kate. Aldyth
was only two years old when her mother went to Australia. She cannot
remember her."
"It always seems to me that Miss Lorraine is more truly Aldyth's
mother," said Mrs. Bland. "She has had the care of her ever since
she was a few months old, for shortly after Aldyth was born, Captain
Lorraine's health began to fail, and then Mrs. Lorraine travelled about
with him, and the baby was left with her aunt. I am sure Miss Lorraine
feels that Aldyth is her child, and I believe she provides for her
almost entirely."
"Yes, but Aldyth does not feel like that," said Hilda. "She is fond of
her aunt, and very grateful to her; but she loves her mother best. She
is always looking forward to her mother's coming to England. I wonder
if she ever will come!"
"Poor Aldyth!" said Mrs. Bland, with a sigh.
"Why do you always say 'Poor Aldyth' when we speak of Aldyth's mother?"
asked Hilda, quickly.
"Do I always say it?" replied Mrs. Bland.
"Yes, you do, mother, and I want to know why. I believe it is because
you think that Aldyth's mother loves her eldest child less than her
eldest child loves her. Is that it?"
"Well, perhaps," Mrs. Bland admitted. "I must confess I find it hard
to understand how a mother could leave such a tiny child behind her in
England, and let her grow up to womanhood without making an effort to
see her. I can only suppose that the other children, born to her in
Melbourne, have taken Aldyth's place in her heart, and that, absorbed
in her home life, she thinks but little of her eldest daughter, and
regards her rather as Miss Lorraine's adopted child than as her own."
"But she wants to come home, and her coming has often been talked of,"
said Hilda. "She tells Aldyth in her letters how she longs to see her."
"I dare say," said Mrs. Bland, drily; "but a mother's passionate
yearning to see her child would have found out a way for them to meet
before now, I think."
"You knew Aldyth's mother when she was a girl, did you not?" asked
Kate. "Is Aldyth like her?"
"Yes and no," said Mrs. Bland; "Aldyth's mother was a lovely girl,
and had most fascinating ways. Aldyth is more of a Lorraine, and yet
she often reminds me of her mother. But there is a great difference—I
hardly know how to explain it—but there is a great difference between
them. Aldyth seems to have inherited her father's frank, loving nature
together with her mother's brightness."
"Had not Mrs. Lorraine a loving nature?" Hilda asked.
"Well, not as a girl. She was the belle of this neighbourhood, and
had many admirers, and that sort of thing makes same girls callous.
Then her parents were poor and designing, and they hurried her into a
marriage with Captain Lorraine, because they thought he was to be his
uncle's heir. I do not believe she loved him, and she was too young
to have an idea of the serious duties and responsibilities of married
life. You know I think no girl should be married before she is one and
twenty."
"And the marriage proved an unhappy one, I suppose?" said Kate.
"I fear so," said Mrs. Bland. "Stephen Lorraine strongly disapproved
of it, and when his nephew married in spite of his disapproval, he
would have nothing more to do with him. The captain was harassed with
money difficulties, and, as his health failed, he grew morbid and
depressed. I heard Mrs. Lorraine say once that living with him was like
being continually with a wet blanket. She was easily consoled after
his death, for within a year she married Mr. Stanton, and sailed for
Australia."
"Poor Aldyth!" sighed Hilda. "It seems hard that her mother should
desert her like that. Miss Lorraine is very kind; but she is so fussy
and talkative; I should not like to live with her."
"I wonder if Aldyth will ever join her family," said Kitty, "and how
she will like them if she does!"
"I almost hope that may never happen," said Mrs. Bland, "for I fancy it
would mean disappointment for Aldyth."
"She will never know what it is to have such a dear little mother as
you," cried Gwen, suddenly bestowing a warm hug on her mother.
Mrs. Bland laughed at Gwen's vehemence, but tears came into her eyes as
she kissed Gwen.
The death of her husband, followed a year later by that of her eldest
boy, three years younger than Hilda, had intensified the anxiety that
almost invariably attends a mother's love; but Mrs. Bland was a wise
woman, and kept most of her fears to herself, taking care not to worry
her children. Thus it was that her girls grew up with the feeling that
their mother was their best friend, and there was no constraint between
them, though Hilda at times evinced a certain reserve of character
which caused her mother some uneasiness.
Mrs. Bland's heart was so essentially that of a mother that its
sympathies could not be bounded by her own home circle. The friends
of her girls were her friends also, and responded gratefully to the
kindness she showed them. As for Aldyth Lorraine, she was well-nigh as
dear to Mrs. Bland as one of her own children. She had grown up with
Kate and Hilda. They had been separated only during their school terms,
Aldyth having been sent to a more expensive school than Mrs. Bland
could afford for her daughters. Aldyth often said that Mrs. Bland was
the most motherly woman she knew; and unconsciously the girl's thoughts
of her absent mother, and her dreams of what their meeting would be,
were largely coloured by what she saw of the love and confidence
existing between Mrs. Bland and her daughters.