HILDA IS HAPPY.
THREE days had passed since Aldyth received Hilda's letter. Her aunt
had sent her a full account of what had happened, and a few curt, but
not unkind, words from her uncle had assured her that there was no need
for her to feel any anxiety on his account.
It was about five o'clock on a bright afternoon, and Aldyth, having had
occasion to go to a shop there, was walking in Oxford Street. She was
near Regent Circus when, to her great astonishment, she perceived her
grand-uncle a few yards in front of her, stepping cautiously from an
omnibus. He did not perceive her, and she looked at him for a moment
or two, hardly able to believe her eyes. Her uncle, who professed to
dislike London so much, and had not been known to visit it for years!
Indeed, it was a great event for him at any time to go beyond twenty
miles of his home. But there he was, in his old velveteen coat, his
white hat, his drab gaiters, just as Aldyth was accustomed to see him
at Woodham, but looking strangely out of place on the London pavement.
She hurriedly made her way to his side.
"Uncle! I little expected to see you in Oxford Street."
He turned, surprised and pleased, yet his manner betrayed some
discomposure.
"Ah, Aldyth, is it you? Well, it is a happy chance that we should meet
thus. Yes, you may well be surprised to see me here; but business
brought me to town. I came up on business."
Aldyth could not remember that her uncle had ever come up to London on
business before. He was wont to manage all his business through the
agency of Mr. Ralph Greenwood.
"Were you coming to see me, uncle?" she asked.
"Well, no, I was not," he answered, still with a shade of embarrassment
in his manner; "I have finished my business, and I thought I would take
a little look about town before going home by the evening train."
"Then you will come and see mamma?" said Aldyth, eagerly. "She will be
so pleased to see you."
The old man did not at once reply. He only smiled a peculiar, grim
smile, which said, as plainly as words could utter it, "But I should
not be pleased to see her."
"Do you really think she would be pleased?" he asked sarcastically,
after a few moments. "Suppose she had some of her fashionable friends
with her, would she be delighted, do you think, to see a queer,
old-fashioned countryman like me come into her fine drawing room?"
"I do not believe that would make any difference, uncle," Aldyth said.
He laughed sceptically.
"Ah, my dear, you must excuse me," he said; "I knew your mother before
you were born."
Aldyth's cheeks were burning. She wished he would not speak of her
mother in that contemptuous tone.
"I am glad I happened to meet you," she said, "since otherwise I should
not have seen you at all. Shall we go into the Park and sit down for a
little while? It is quite warm, and I want to have a talk with you."
He assented with evident pleasure. In a few minutes they were at the
Marble Arch, and entering the Park found a quiet seat under some trees.
"Aldyth," said her uncle suddenly, "you will be good enough not to
mention to your mother that you have seen me to-day; and do not name it
when you are writing to Woodham. I do not wish my coming up to town to
be talked about there."
Aldyth promised; but she could not but wonder that her uncle should
think it possible to keep people at Woodham from knowing that he had
made a journey to town.
Presently she expressed her thankfulness for his recent escape from
danger.
"Yes," he said, thoughtfully, "it was a narrow escape,—a narrow escape
indeed. And Guy acted like a hero. He saved my life at the risk of his
own; there's no denying that. How he hung on to that brute of a horse I
can't tell. His wrists feel the strain yet."
"Oh, uncle, I hope you do not drive that animal still," Aldyth said.
"Well, no, I suppose I shall have to give it up; he's not safe in the
shafts. Guy can ride him. Guy is a good rider. Sometimes I think that
perhaps I have been too hard on him; he is a good fellow, is Guy. I did
hope I should have seen you married to him, Aldyth; but I suppose it
cannot be."
"No, uncle, it can never be," Aldyth said.
"I had set my heart on it," he continued, sadly, not angrily; "but you
young people have a way of thwarting all my plans. You must have your
own way, however things go. I thought you cared for Wyndham; I thought
you would have taken a pride in the old place."
"I do love Wyndham," Aldyth said.
"Yes, but you do not care to live there—at least, not as Guy's wife.
Aldyth, tell me, you would not be one to pull down and alter the old
place, if it were in your power to retain it as it is?"
"Certainly not," said Aldyth, wondering at the question; "I am not one
to desire change. I like things to be as they have always been."
"Ah, yes," he said, musingly. "Well, there is no saying how things will
be. Perhaps some other girl will be the mistress of Wyndham. Would you
mind if it were so, Aldyth?"
"Why, no, uncle," said Aldyth, "I assure you, I have never thought of
such a thing as being the mistress of Wyndham. Guy and I are really not
at all suited to each other."
"Yes, but there are other ways," he said. There was a pause of some
minutes, and then he asked, abruptly, "Are you and Hilda Bland as good
friends as ever, Aldyth?"
"Oh, yes, uncle, indeed we are."
"Does she write to you?"
"Yes."
"Ah, well," he said, and his voice quavered as he spoke, "there is no
saying how things will be at the last. I change my plans, and then I
change them again. Sometimes I think I am getting old and weak, and do
not know my own mind. But I mean it for the best. However things are, I
mean it for the best. I suppose I have a right to do as I like with my
own? They'll find fault with me, no doubt, when I'm gone; but I mean it
for the best."
His voice had dropped, and as he rambled on thus it seemed to Aldyth
that he had forgotten where he was and that she was by his side. She
had fancied him unchanged when first she saw him; but now it seemed
to her that there was a change in him, though it was one not easy to
define.
She laid her hand on his, and he looked round with a startled air, but
recovering himself slowly, he said, "I don't know why I should talk
about going. I am not so very old. Several of my ancestors lived to
be ninety, and why should not I? I have always lived temperately. Why
should not I see ninety, please God?"
"I trust you will, uncle," Aldyth said, gently; "but now, at what time
does your train leave for Woodham?"
"Eh? The time; half-past six, to be sure. What's the time now? Oh, I
don't trust any of your London clocks." And he pulled out the huge gold
repeater familiar to Aldyth from her childhood. "Ah, I must leave you,
child. I am glad we met. When are you coming to Woodham again? You do
not look so well as when you left us. Tell me, are you happy with your
mother and sisters? Do they treat you properly?"
"Yes, indeed they are very kind to me; I have nothing to complain of,"
Aldyth said, but nevertheless there was a yearning in her heart for
Woodham and its peaceful, pleasant ways.
"Well, if they do treat you badly, you know where to come," her uncle
said.
As they walked through the Park to the nearest entrance, many a
passer-by looked curiously at the quaint old squire and the tall,
graceful girl by his side, whilst he on his part bestowed a fierce
scrutiny and more or less unflattering comments on every person or
equipage that met his gaze. When Aldyth had seen her uncle into a cab
for Liverpool Street, she hurried homewards, and reached the house
barely in time to change her dress and appear at the dinner-table as
usual.
Her mind was full of her uncle during the evening, and she found it
difficult to avoid mentioning him.
A few days later, Aldyth received a second letter from Hilda, the
contents of which gave her both surprise and pleasure.
"Oh, Aldyth," Hilda wrote, "you will hardly believe the good news I
have to tell you. I can hardly believe it myself, though it makes me so
happy—I cannot tell you how happy I am. But I must explain. On Saturday
mother had a most polite note from Mr. Lorraine, begging her to come on
Monday with her two daughters to spend the day at Wyndham. The carriage
should be sent for us at any hour that would suit our convenience. You
may imagine how surprised we were, for Mr. Lorraine had been barely
civil to us since the day he called here and behaved so rude, and I
do not think mother had forgiven him for telling her she did not look
after her daughters properly.
"However, I persuaded mother it was her duty to forget that now, and
Kitty wanted to see the horses at Wyndham, and I—Ah, I need not tell
you how I felt about it! Anyhow, mother accepted the invitation, and
about noon we started for Wyndham.
"The dear old man—yes, I can call him dear now—received us with
charming courtesy. He had arranged that Guy should take me and Kitty
for a ride in the afternoon; was it not good of him? You can fancy how
delighted Kitty was, nor was I less so; and as for Guy, I never saw
him in such spirits. Kitty rode Pansy, and the lovely creature was so
tricksy. She does not get exercise enough now you are away.
"But now for the most wonderful item of my news. It was easy to see
that the squire was in a very good humour with Guy. Well, whilst we
were riding, Mr. Lorraine had a long talk with mother, and told her he
had decided to let Guy take his own way with regard to his marriage,
and if he still wished to marry me, he was free to do so.
"And to make a short story of it, Aldyth, we are now engaged, and in
a day or two, all Woodham will know it. But, of course, you must be
the first friend to hear of it; I know how glad you will be. You can
sympathize with me in my happiness as no one else can. Oh, I am happy.
I can say with Juliet—
"My true love is grown to such excess,
I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth."
"I wonder what people will say when they hear of my engagement? It will
be a surprise, for it has always been said that you would marry your
cousin. But, talking of gossip, what do you think is Miss Rudkin's
latest piece of news? She declares that your uncle went to London by
the first train on Wednesday morning, and that he drove all the way to
Wickham, and took the train there, in order that people should not know
that he went! Did you ever hear anything so absurd? I suppose you have
not seen him in town?"
There was much more in the letter, which Aldyth read several times.
She was delighted to hear of Hilda's happiness, and inclined to esteem
Guy more highly than she had ever done before. It never occurred to
her that she had any cause to deplore the engagement, as likely to
be detrimental to her own prospects. Aldyth was not wont to concern
herself greatly about her future, and she had never felt anxious to
know her uncle's intentions with respect to his property. A healthy,
happy girlhood has no temptation to be greedy after wealth. It seemed
to her a fortunate circumstance that her uncle's horse had run away,
since Guy's gallant conduct had so softened the old man's feelings as
to make him for once renounce a cherished wish.
And so people had said that she would marry Guy! It was not surprising,
but it vexed her to think of it. Had Mr. Glynne heard it said? The
colour deepened in her cheeks as she asked herself the question. Well,
if so, he would now know that it was a mistake. Aldyth was glad to
think this; she did not like the idea of his supposing that she would
be willing to marry Guy.
Hilda's letter had put Aldyth into excellent spirits. But when she
hastened to share the news with her mother and sister, the brightness
of her mood was checked. Mrs. Stanton heard it with feelings that were
beyond control.
"You can pretend to be pleased at this, Aldyth?" she asked, in a tragic
tone.
"There is no pretence about it, mamma. I am unfeignedly glad that Hilda
is to marry Guy. I used to doubt if he were good enough for her; but I
think better of him now."
"You ought to be ashamed to talk so!" cried her mother, in tones sharp
and high. "I have no patience with you. To think that you might have
been the mistress of Wyndham! You should bewail your folly instead of
rejoicing. One would think you had no sense."
Aldyth stood silent; but it was not without a strong effort that she
kept herself from uttering hot, indignant words.
"Now you have crossed his wish, I dare say your uncle will not leave
you a penny," continued Mrs. Stanton. "You might, for the sake of us
all, have played your cards better than that. I hope you will not
infect Gladys with your stupidly romantic notions."
Here the flow of Mrs. Stanton's eloquence ceased abruptly, for Aldyth
turned without a word and quitted the room.
"You need not have dragged my name into the discussion, mamma," said
Gladys, with scorn in her tones. "You might know that I belong to
another order of being, and could never act like Aldyth."
"I hope not, indeed," said Mrs. Stanton, devoutly. "I trust you have
more wisdom."
"I don't know about that," said Gladys; "though the Bible does say that
'the children of this world are in their generation wiser than the
children of light.' You and I belong this world, mamma. I rather fancy
Aldyth must be one of the 'children of light.'"
"What do you mean by speaking in that absurd way? It is not like you,
Gladys."
Aldyth had hurried from her mother's presence that she might not be
over-mastered by an impulse to relieve her irritated feeling by quick,
passionate words. She had a great dread—born of the sacred idea of
motherhood she had ever cherished—of being driven to utter bitter,
unbecoming words to her mother. It was no uncommon thing for Gladys
to address her mother disrespectfully. Angry words sometimes passed
between them, though they were good friends as a rule. But if Aldyth
ever had a scene with her mother, she knew that the thought of it would
leave an indelible stain upon her consciousness, and turn to bitterest
irony the hopes of past years.
Mrs. Stanton did not again refer to Guy's engagement; but she treated
Aldyth with marked coldness during the next few days. But, as if
to atone for her mother's unkindness, Gladys' manner towards her
sister was more affectionate than usual. It was she who insisted that
Aldyth should accompany them to the Horticultural Gardens on Saturday
afternoon. Aldyth consented with some reluctance, for she would have
preferred to spend the time with Nelly, as usual. But she could hardly
regret that she had come when they reached the gardens, which were
looking their loveliest in the first fresh beauty of the spring.
Mr. and Mrs. Stanton seated themselves under the trees to listen to the
band, but the girls preferred to move about, admiring the flowers and
observing the well-dressed crowd. Some of the ladies were so fair and
so charmingly dressed that they seemed to rival the flowers in beauty.
Aldyth did not wonder that many eyes were directed towards her sister;
she saw no one prettier than Gladys in her gown of palest blue and
large white hat. But attractive as was the appearance of Gladys, Aldyth
did not suffer total eclipse as she walked by her side. Several persons
inquired the name of the tall girl who was Miss Stanton's companion,
and decided that though she might not be called beautiful, there was
something very interesting about her.
Aldyth went so little into society that she did not expect to meet any
one she knew. Gladys stopped now and then to chat with acquaintances,
and was careful to introduce her sister; but Aldyth felt herself amidst
strangers, till suddenly, as she stood on the outskirt of a little
group, a gentleman paused before her, bowing, and saying, in tones of
pleasurable surprise—
"Miss Lorraine! This is an unexpected pleasure. Somehow one seems to
forget that it is possible for Woodham people to come to London."
It was Captain Walker.
Aldyth greeted him with pleasure, and they entered at once into
an enjoyable chat over Woodham affairs. He had not heard of Guy's
engagement, and the news seemed greatly to please him. Aldyth was
amused at the warmth with which he expressed himself on the subject.
Presently Aldyth introduced him to Gladys, and a little later to her
mother, who, deciding at once that the young man had a distinguished
appearance, received him most graciously. Captain Walker remained with
them as long as they stayed in the gardens. As he saw them into their
carriage, Mrs. Stanton informed him that they were always "at home" on
Sunday evenings, and begged that he would give them the pleasure of his
company on the following evening.
Aldyth had always liked Captain Walker, and it was a pleasure to her
to see an old friend who knew all about Woodham and her life there.
She was sorry that her mother had invited him for Sunday evening; for
ever since her coming to London, she had made it a rule not to join the
party gathered in the drawing room on that evening. The Lord's day was
sacred and precious to Aldyth. She liked to feel that it was different
from every other day. It was no hardship, but a pleasure to her, when
at Woodham, to attend both services at the church, and to spend the
afternoon with her class in the Sunday school.
But Sunday observances were deemed irksome in her mother's home. In
her Australian life, Mrs. Stanton had forsaken the religious habits of
earlier days. She had learned to laugh at the old-fashioned Sabbath of
her childhood, and she considered that she had sufficiently recognized
the sacred character of the day if she attended a short service in the
forenoon. That over, the rest of the day might be given to pleasure and
self-indulgence.
Aldyth could see little difference between Sundays and other days in
her new home, but she could not bear so to waste the day she found so
helpful if rightly spent. She had the courage to avow her convictions
on the subject, and to make a point of attending an evening service.
Mrs. Stanton laughed at her Puritanical notions, but left her free to
do as she liked. Nor did she raise any objection when Nelly began to
accompany her sister. Mrs. Stanton found her youngest daughter not easy
to manage; she was apt to get cross and sulky if anything put her out,
so that her absence when visitors were expected was rather a relief
than otherwise.
Aldyth thought it probable that she would be urged to remain at home on
the following evening, but, rather to her surprise, no notice was taken
of the fact that Captain Walker was her friend. She went to church as
usual, and afterwards remained quietly in her room till the visitors
had departed. Coming down stairs then, she found her mother and Gladys
in high good humour.
"It was a pity you took yourself off," Gladys said. "We have had a
delightful evening. Captain Walker asked where you were."
"You never told me, Aldyth, that he was nephew to Sir Richard
Courtenay," said Mrs. Stanton in a tone of reproof; "for aught I knew
he might have been just anybody."
"I had forgotten it, mamma," said Aldyth. "Now you mention it, I
remember hearing Guy say that he was related to Sir Richard Courtenay."
"You should remember such things," said Mrs. Stanton, frowning. "Why,
Mrs. Gibson tells me it is not at all unlikely that the baronetcy may
fall to him."
"Well, I never heard that," said Aldyth.
"Whatever he may be in the future, he is very nice now," said Gladys.
"He understands music perfectly. He says my voice reminds him of
Antoinette Sterling. He is going to bring his violin with him when next
he comes."
It was not long ere the captain repeated his visit. Aldyth was at
home, and, much to his satisfaction, she accompanied his violin on
the pianoforte. As they played one favourite piece after another,
it seemed like a return of the old days at Wyndham. But Aldyth was
careful that Gladys should not feel herself excluded from the evening's
entertainment. It was found that her voice went charmingly with the
violin, and she was persuaded to sing several times. But however the
captain might applaud, a quick ear would have detected that Gladys'
musical performance lacked the accuracy and finish of Aldyth's.
It was a difference akin to that which distinguished the characters of
the two girls. Aldyth had studied music with the thoroughness which
marked her pursuit of every kind of knowledge; in her desire after
perfection, she had spared herself no pains, shrunk from no sacrifice
of time and pleasure, with the result that she had attained a beautiful
touch, and played with rare power and expression. Gladys had studied in
a superficial, half-hearted fashion, wishful only to acquire a certain
effectiveness. It followed in consequence that Captain Walker, although
he had likened her voice to that of Antoinette Sterling, was perfectly
aware that her singing was very faulty, and her choice of songs poor.
"Captain Walker," said Aldyth, leaning back from the piano to address
him when they had just finished a brilliant fantasia, in which he had
played his part with great skill, "I wish you would come to Whitechapel
some evening and play to my factory girls."
"To Whitechapel!" he repeated, with an air of surprise.
"My dear Aldyth!" exclaimed Mrs. Stanton, in a tone of rebuke. "How can
you ask Captain Walker to go to that dreadful place? If you choose to
go there yourself, you cannot expect that your friends will like to do
so."
"No place can be too dreadful for me to which Miss Lorraine goes," said
the captain. "I shall be only too happy to be of any service to her
there."
"Oh, thank you," said Aldyth. "It would be so kind of you to come and
play to the girls some evening. They are very fond of music."
"I call it a poor compliment to Captain Walker to ask him to play to
a lot of low factory girls," said Gladys. "What can they know of good
music?"
But Captain Walker did not appear to regard the request as
uncomplimentary. He looked pleased, and listened with interest as
Aldyth talked to him about the work at Whitechapel. He readily promised
to help, and a day was fixed for his visit.
But there was a cloud on Mrs. Stanton's face as she heard the
arrangement made, and Aldyth soon learned that she had given annoyance
to her mother and sister.