CHRISTMAS AT WYNDHAM.
ONE of Aldyth's chief thoughts when she woke in the morning was that
the morrow would be Christmas Day, and that she and her aunt were to
dine, as usual, at Wyndham Hall. The prospect was far from agreeable
to her. She was too annoyed with Guy to wish to see him again so soon,
and she dreaded that her uncle might make some attempt to persuade her
to do as he wished. She knew too well the iron strength of his will to
suppose that he would easily resign himself to the frustration of his
hopes.
But though Aldyth felt that it would be intensely unpleasant to have
any words with him on the subject, she had no fear that anything her
uncle might say could move her. She, too, was a Lorraine, and was not
to be lightly coerced. She was certain that her feelings towards Guy
could never change. Nothing could make it right for her to marry him;
no argument could convince her of the contrary.
"I will do everything I can to please uncle," she said to herself; "but
this is impossible. Mother could never wish this."
Christmas Day after all passed more pleasantly than Aldyth expected.
She went to church with her aunt in the morning, and on coming out of
church they walked a few steps with the Blands and Mr. Glynne, whom
Mrs. Bland had invited to dine with her family. Hilda seemed out of
spirits, and Aldyth fancied there was a difference in her friend's
manner towards her. The thought made her uncomfortable. She hoped Hilda
would never know of Guy's foolish conduct with regard to herself.
"She would be so hurt," thought Aldyth; "and, after all, he cares far
more for her than for me. But I wish she did not think so much of him,
for I doubt if he really deserves her love."
Soon after Aldyth and her aunt returned from church, the carriage
arrived to take them to Wyndham. Miss Lorraine thought it strange that
Guy had not come up to Woodham to fetch them. But Guy was otherwise
engaged. He had had the forethought to invite his friend Captain Walker
to come from Colchester to spend Christmas Day at Wyndham. He had
given the invitation without consulting his uncle, and Mr. Lorraine
was secretly annoyed at the introduction of this guest into the family
party, though his pride would not suffer him to withhold from the
captain a hospitable welcome.
To Aldyth the presence of Captain Walker was a relief. It made it easy
for her to meet Guy as if nothing had happened. The long evening passed
not unpleasantly for her. The captain was musical; he had brought his
violin, and he was thoroughly happy as he accompanied Aldyth's playing
on the piano. The same could not be said of the others who were present.
Stephen Lorraine was incapable of appreciating music, and he did not
like the way in which Captain Walker monopolized his young niece. Guy
had refrained from telling his uncle that Aldyth had rejected him; but
old Stephen's keen eyes saw enough that evening to convince him that
the matter was not progressing as he wished. He could hardly control
his impatience, and Miss Lorraine grew uneasy as she observed the dark
ill-humour that was settling on his countenance, and the irritable
tones in which he addressed Guy.
That young gentleman was not slow to perceive that a storm was brewing;
but he hoped to avoid having any words with his uncle that night.
Aldyth and her aunt were to pass the night at Wyndham. When they had
retired, Guy and his friend bade Mr. Lorraine "Good-night," and went
off to the former's "den" for a smoke.
Guy congratulated himself that he had managed well; but there had been
a peculiar grimness in his uncle's tone as he bade him "Good-night"
which augured ill for the time when they should have to come to an
understanding. Guy thought he had succeeded in deferring that evil hour
at least till the morrow; but when, about midnight, having conducted
his friend to his room, he was on his way to his own at the extreme end
of the corridor, he perceived a stream of light radiating the darkness
from his uncle's door, which stood ajar, and, as he approached it,
heard his name called in sharp tones—
"Guy, Guy!"
"Yes, sir," said Guy, pushing back the door.
"It is not so late but that you can spare me a few minutes. Come in, if
you please, and shut the door. I have something to say to you."
Guy, with a disagreeable prevision of what was coming, did as he was
told.
His uncle, wrapped in an old red dressing-gown, his velvet cap still on
his head, sat in a high-backed chair by the fire. The candles burning
on the mantelshelf threw their light on his face, and showed it more
yellow, sunken, and furrowed than it appeared by daylight.
Guy stood at the other side of the fire-place, tall and erect, looking
down on him.
"Take a chair, can't you?" said the old man, irritably.
Guy drew up a chair.
"I want to know," said his uncle, going at once to the point, "whether
anything is yet settled between you and Aldyth?"
"Yes, sir," said Guy, "it is so far settled that Aldyth has declined to
be my wife."
"You have asked her, and she has refused you?"
"In the most decided manner. It is out of the question, she says."
Old Stephen's brow darkened.
"Bah! You have done your wooing badly," he said. "You must not take
any notice of that. The next time you ask her, she will respond
differently."
"I cannot ask her again," said Guy.
"Cannot! You must, I tell you."
"Excuse me, sir," said Guy. "She has told me the thing is impossible;
she has even said that she regards my proposal as an insult. After that
I cannot repeat it."
"Ah, you have let her see that you are a half-hearted suitor," said the
old man, shrewdly. "That will never do. You must manage better next
time."
"There can be no next time," said Guy, his temper and courage rising
together. "To please you, I have asked my cousin to marry me, but since
she refuses, I now claim a right to choose a wife for myself."
"And whom would you choose, pray?" asked his uncle, regarding him with
a narrow, penetrating glance. "Come, tell me, for I can see you have
some one in your mind."
Guy hesitated; but having dared so much, it seemed to him that he might
as well dare all. Perhaps if he showed some spirit, and made it clear
that he was determined to do as he liked, his uncle would yield to the
inevitable.
"You are right, sir," he said. "Since Aldyth has refused me, I will own
that Hilda Bland is the girl I should like to make my wife."
"Hilda Bland! That white-faced girl, hardly bigger than a full-sized
doll! What folly!" exclaimed Stephen Lorraine, his indignation blazing
forth at this confirmation of his suspicion. "Let me hear no more
of this, Guy. Hilda Bland is, not one whom I could think of as the
mistress of Wyndham."
Guy's face grew hot. He naturally resented his uncle's remarks. An
angry reply rushed to his lips, but the mention of Wyndham checked it.
Here was a thought that bid him pause.
"If you knew Hilda better, uncle, you would appreciate her more
highly," he said, forcing himself to speak, calmly. "It is hard that
you will not think of my happiness."
"I do think of your happiness, and I think of Aldyth's also," said his
uncle, significantly. "You can, of course, make Hilda your wife, if you
choose, but she will not be the mistress of Wyndham."
Guy had risen, and stood looking blankly at his uncle.
"Yes," said the old man, "I mean it. There is no need to say more. You
understand me now. Good-night."
"Good-night," said Guy, mechanically, as he turned away, having
received a poor preparation for a night's rest. He felt that he was
being very hardly treated. It was characteristic of him that one effect
of his uncle's opposition was to intensify his desire to wed Hilda.
Another consequence of his present embarrassment was that he was
beginning to feel towards Aldyth something like dislike in place of his
old cousinly affection for her.
The remembrance of the words she had uttered, and the scorn she had
been unable to conceal when he made his proposal, rankled in his mind,
and he told himself that nothing should ever induce him to approach the
subject with her again. And now his uncle's words respecting Wyndham
had suggested a jealous dread of the old man's affection for Aldyth.
Did they not mean that in the event of his marrying Hilda, Aldyth would
be made heiress of Wyndham? Was ever the course of true love more
blocked and barred? Guy did not doubt that his was a case to which the
familiar quotation might be aptly applied.
Stephen Lorraine was content to visit his chagrin solely upon Guy. His
manner towards Aldyth could not have been kinder than it was on the
following day. He was indeed never really cross with her. The very
sight of her seemed to charm away his ill-humour, and he was at his
best when she was present. In spite of the strain to which it was often
subjected, Aldyth had a genuine affection for her grand-uncle, and
never failed to show him the tender reverence youth owes to age, so it
was little wonder she exercised a softening influence on him.
The morning was clear and cold. A silvery rime sparkled on the grass
and on the bare boughs of the trees; the pond was frozen so hard that
skating seemed a near possibility; the tame birds fluttered to and fro
before the house, eagerly picking up the crumbs scattered for them on
the hard, glittering gravel. It was just the morning for a walk, and at
a hint from her uncle, Aldyth ran to put on her strong boots, and the
cosy sealskin jacket and cap which had been his present to her on the
previous Christmas.
Old Stephen, fresh and ruddy despite his four-score years, minded the
cold no more than a young man. Followed by his dogs, he made the round
of the grounds with Aldyth, inspected the stables, and visited the
stack-yard and farm buildings, which were at some distance from the
Hall. She asked questions which drew forth long explanations from him;
he pointed out sundry improvements he intended making, talking of his
plans with the freedom of one who knows he has an interested listener.
He told Aldyth much that she had heard before; but she was willing to
listen to it again, especially when he began to go back, as old men
are wont to do, to his early days and tell her tales of his boyhood,
mingled with recollections of the mother whom it was evident he had
tenderly loved.
"The old place looks well to-day," he remarked, as, returning by a side
walk through the shrubbery, they came in view of the house shining in
the full radiance of the morning sun; "there can be no place like it
for me. Boy and man, I've known it for eighty years. There are not many
men, I imagine, as old as I am, who can say they have lived in the same
house all their days."
"No, indeed," said Aldyth, to whom such an unvarying experience seemed
by no means desirable.
"My father and his father lived here before me," continued her uncle.
"I should be sorry to think of any but Lorraines dwelling under that
roof. Aldyth, I hope you will never change your name. I have always
looked forward to your making your home at Wyndham some day."
Aldyth coloured hotly. Listening to talk of the kind familiar to her
from her uncle, she had forgotten her dread of his touching upon this
subject. She longed to say something that should make him understand
how impossible was the idea he cherished, but no suitable words
suggested themselves.
They entered the house by one of the drawing room windows which stood
open. A fire had been kindled in the grate, and lent a little cheer to
the melancholy, forsaken-looking room, with its faded drab furniture.
There were no curtains to the windows; the room was guiltless of
drapery of any kind, and lacked all the pretty, dainty decorations with
which a lady adorns her sitting room. Old Stephen, glancing round,
seemed suddenly to become aware of the barrenness and inelegance.
"Ah," he said, with an air of regret, "it was a pretty room once, but
now it wants a little refurbishing badly. Somehow, only a woman seems
to understand what a room requires to make it look right. And there has
been no mistress at Wyndham since she passed away, and that's nigh upon
fifty years now."
He pointed, as he spoke, to the portrait of his mother, hanging above
the mantelshelf—a handsome, motherly woman, in the high mob-cap and
snowy kerchief worn by matrons of her day. Aldyth had often looked at
the picture of her great-grandmother, but she turned her eyes on it
again with unfeigned interest.
"She was a good woman," he continued, his voice a little husky. "I
should like to think that Wyndham would have another such mistress.
She looked well to the ways of her household, and ate not the bread of
idleness. Sometimes I fancy I see a resemblance to her in you, Aldyth.
Well, well, if Guy wins a wife worthy to succeed her, she shall make
what changes she likes in the old house. This room shall be refurnished
for her, and made a pretty room again."
Aldyth's heart beat quickly. She was touched and pained, and at a loss
what to say.
"Dear uncle," she said, hurriedly, "I am sure it would pain you to turn
out the old furniture you have known all your life."
"Maybe it would," he admitted; "but what of that? My time here is
almost over. We would have a new piano, Aldyth. Did not that fiddling
man find fault with this?"
"He said it was below concert pitch," replied Aldyth, understanding her
uncle to refer to Captain Walker.
"Well, then, we would have that set right. And, Aldyth, I have things
in my keeping that I wish should come into no hands but yours. There
are some trinkets my mother used to wear—jewels of real value, I
believe. You could have them reset, I suppose, to suit your fancy."
"Oh, uncle, please do not speak of that!" cried Aldyth, in distress.
She could not help seeing what her uncle had in his mind; but he
expressed himself so vaguely that it was impossible for her to meet his
words with a decided statement concerning herself.
"Do you not care for jewels?" he asked. "I thought all women loved
them."
"Oh, I admire them, certainly," said Aldyth; "but there are many things
I care more for."
"You are a good girl," said her uncle. "You care to make others happy,
I know. You will try," he added significantly, as he kissed her on the
forehead, "you will try to do what will add so greatly to the happiness
of my last days on earth."
The colour mounted to Aldyth's forehead; her lips quivered; there was a
nervous tremor in her voice as she spoke.
"Anything that I can do, uncle, anything that is right; but you might
wish what would be impossible for me."
"Nonsense, Aldyth," returned her uncle, with his quick, impatient
frown. "You should know me better, child, than to suppose that I could
wish you to do anything that is not right. My wish is only for your
happiness."
"I know, uncle, I know," Aldyth began; "but—"
He checked her with an impatient gesture, and hurried out into the
hall, as though determined not to hear her words.
Aldyth lingered for a few moments by the drawing room fire, feeling
baffled and helpless. Her uncle's ideas of what was right for her, of
what would make her happiness, differed widely from her own. How could
she make him understand? Was it not all but impossible that he, whose
life had lacked the most tender ties, and into which, as far as she
knew, no romance had entered, should comprehend how sacred a thing
marriage appeared to her, and how she dare not desecrate the highest
instincts of her womanhood by joining herself by that closest of all
bonds to one who could never win her supreme love?
But Stephen Lorraine had gone away satisfied that his words would not
fail to have the effect he desired.
"She is all right," he said to himself; "she does not mean to give
herself to Guy too easily; that is all. It is his own fault that he has
failed. Of course, she sees that he does not care enough about her. But
I'll find means to make him care; I'll bring him to book somehow."
And the old man pondered fresh plans, convinced that his blundering
efforts at matchmaking would be crowned at last with success.
Later in the day, at her uncle's suggestion, Aldyth took ride with her
cousin and his friend. Assuredly the presence of a third person was
never found more convenient. Captain Walker was bent on making himself
agreeable, and succeeded so well that Guy's unusual moodiness did not
spoil the pleasure of the ride. Pansy was so exhilarated by the keen
air that it was all her mistress could do to restrain her sportiveness,
and in the excitement of the exercise, Aldyth forgot every cause of
uneasiness.
But troubled thoughts returned to her. As they drove home that evening,
her aunt wondered that she was so grave and still.
"Is anything troubling you, Aldyth?" she asked at last.
"Yes," said Aldyth, "I am thinking about uncle. Do you know what is his
wish concerning me—and Guy?"
"Yes, dear, I have known it for some time. You don't mean to say that
uncle has spoken to you about it?"
"Not directly; but I could not help knowing what he meant. He asked me
to try to do what would add so greatly to his happiness. But how can
one try in such a case? If only he would see that it is impossible!"
"You think it so, then?" said her aunt, quickly.
"Auntie, do you need to ask the question? You might know me better than
to suppose that I could marry Guy."
"Well, I thought not," said Miss Lorraine. "It does not surprise me to
hear you say so. And yet—and yet—I am very sorry. This will make a deal
of trouble."
"I can bear my share of the trouble," said Aldyth, "but I am sorry to
disappoint uncle. He desires it so much, that for his sake, I almost
wish it were possible."
Miss Lorraine sighed. Various aspects of the affair presented
themselves to her which never entered into Aldyth's thoughts. She
wondered whether the girl's mother would approve of the decision to
which she had come. To Aldyth, the question was perfectly simple, and
it never occurred to her as possible that her mother's opinion on the
subject might not coincide with her own.