UNWELCOME CHANGES COME IN FORTUNE'S TRAIN.
"GOOD-BYE, Aldyth! I'm off."
"Off? Off whither, Guy?" asked Aldyth, in her astonishment looking at
his outstretched hand without taking it.
She had but just finished breakfast. Guy apparently had breakfasted
earlier, for he stood before her, hat and stick in hand. And now Aldyth
perceived that his dog-cart stood at the door, and a servant was
placing what seemed to be luggage at the back.
"I am going to my own house," said Guy, stiffly. "I was down there on
Saturday, and made every arrangement."
The colour flew into Aldyth's face. "Oh, Guy, why should you!" she
exclaimed, deeply pained. "Surely things cannot be comfortable enough
for you at the Farm, and there is no reason why you should not remain
here."
"Excuse me," he said, proudly; "you do not understand. I see strong
reasons why this house can no longer be my home."
"Oh, Guy, you speak as if we were enemies," said Aldyth. "Is it my
fault that Wyndham was left to me? You know I would rather it had not
been."
To these words Guy made no reply whatever, and his silence was
irritating to Aldyth. She felt that he wanted to put her in the wrong.
But she controlled herself, and after a few moments' reflection
sympathy overcame irritation.
"It is dreadfully trying for you, I know, Guy," she said. "How I wish I
could set it all right! You are mistaken if you think I rejoice at what
has happened."
A low, impatient exclamation escaped her cousin.
"Why cannot you stay on here with me and aunt?" asked Aldyth, with the
kindest intentions. "You need not think of getting your own house ready
till Hilda is prepared to share it."
"If I wait for that, I shall wait a long time," he said, bitterly. "Do
you think I can contemplate marriage on the income I shall draw from
that wretched farm? I am not such a fool. No, that dream is over."
"Guy!" exclaimed Aldyth, startled and distressed.
It had not struck her that Hilda's happiness might be imperilled by
the new, wholly unlooked-for turn of affairs. She recoiled afresh from
the position in which she found herself. Wild ideas of setting aside
her uncle's will, of insisting upon an equal division of the property,
of refusing to live at Wyndham, flitted through her brain, only to be
followed by a keen sense of their impracticability.
Whilst these thoughts possessed her, Guy again held out his hand. She
took it mechanically, and the next instant he hurried from the room.
Three minutes later she saw him drive away from the house.
Aldyth burst into tears. It was hard to have to pay such a price for an
inheritance she had never desired. She began to hate the wealth that
was bringing such isolation into her life. Her cousin, the playmate of
her childhood, was driven from the home in which he had been brought
up; her dearest friend was alienated from her, and all through no fault
of her own. It was hard. Aldyth needed not to be told that she had
become a chief centre of interest in the little world of Woodham. Past
experience made her perfectly aware that her name was constantly on the
lips of the gossips, and that truth was likely to suffer in the rapid
exchange of ideas regarding her that was going on.
But she would have smiled had she known the magnitude to which her
fortune had been blown by the breath of Rumour. According to some
persons, the savings of old Stephen Lorraine had been enormous, and
his niece had come into possession of little short of half a million.
And to make the contrast as striking as possible, Guy's bequest was
proportionately reduced. He had been cut off with a shilling and the
farm at Wood Corner, which every one knew did not comprise the most
productive acres in the neighbourhood.
"Have you heard the news, Mr. Glynne?" asked Clara Dawtrey, brave in
the consciousness of a fresh pink gingham, which he must admire, as she
stopped that gentleman in the London Road.
"What news, Miss Dawtrey?" he asked, fixing on her his peculiarly
earnest gaze.
John Glynne had the quality of being a thorough listener. Clara found
the gravity of his expression and the close attention he was paying to
her words rather disconcerting, as she said, rapidly—
"Oh, the news about Aldyth Lorraine, I mean. Do you know that she has
become a great heiress? Old Stephen saved tremendously all his life,
and she has come in for no end of money. He was as close as possible;
they say he would not even buy a new suit when his brother died. But I
do call it a shame that such a nice fellow as Guy should have nothing."
"Is it so?" asked Mr. Glynne, quietly. "Does Mr. Guy Lorraine inherit
nothing?"
"Oh, he has that mean little farm at Wood Corner, but what is that when
he expected to be the heir of Wyndham? I am sorry for Hilda, but I must
say it is amusing to think of Mrs. Bland's disappointment. She must
have congratulated herself that Hilda was going to make such a good
match."
The young lady laughed gleefully, but not a muscle of John Glynne's
face changed. It was impossible to judge how he was affected by the
news just out in Woodham, for it was the evening of the day on which
old Mr. Lorraine's funeral had taken place.
"I would not be Aldyth Lorraine for anything," continued Miss Dawtrey,
still uneasy beneath Mr. Glynne's gaze. "I should feel odious, taking
everything like that. And in many ways it must be hateful to be an
heiress. I should feel sure that every man who asked me to marry him
only wanted me for my money. But the man who marries Aldyth will find
that he cannot do as he likes with her money; old Stephen has tied it
up tightly. But she ought to have married her cousin. I shall always
say that. Every one expected it of her."
"Is a young lady bound to fulfil the expectations other people have
formed concerning her?" asked Mr. Glynne, with a slight smile.
"Not at all," said Clara, readily; "for my part, I make a point of
doing the reverse; there is nothing I enjoy more than astonishing
people. But Aldyth has always been so good and proper."
John Glynne lifted his hat and moved on without saying more, though he
wondered at the idea of goodness suggested by Miss Dawtrey's words.
The next minute he was passing Myrtle Cottage, which, with its
closely-drawn blinds, had a deserted air. Even the little housemaid
looked forlorn as she stood in the front garden, watering the
geraniums. The memory of pleasant evenings spent within those walls
came to him with a painful reminder that the pleasure was not likely
to be renewed. Aldyth would never return to make her home in the
cottage. The vision of her, rich, courted, removed to a distance from
himself, rose before his mind. The wealth she had inherited would be an
impassable barrier dividing them.
The news had come as a blow to him; but he rallied himself to bear it
bravely. Till this moment he had hardly been aware how strong were the
new hopes that had sprung up in his heart from the hour when he knew
that Guy Lorraine had chosen another bride. They must be crushed now.
"It is well that I know in time," he said to himself. "Well that she
can have no idea of all that she is to me; for it would be preposterous
for a poor tutor to approach as a suitor the heiress of Wyndham."
But it was impossible to resist the suggestion which came with the
memory of her last glance as she drove from the station, that possibly
under other circumstances he might have won her love. John paused,
and, with his arms folded on the top of a gate, and his unseeing eyes
gazing across the fields, pictured to himself in imagination what this
change might mean for Aldyth. He could not imagine her elated by this
sudden dower of wealth. It was easier to think of her as shrinking from
its burden, and fearful of herself, lest she should fail to discharge
aright the new responsibility.
Would it make her happier? Hardly, for she was not one to prize
material prosperity. Her tastes were simple; she had a childlike
enjoyment of the common things of life. He thought her one of the least
worldly of women. Was there any real danger of her giving herself to a
worthless fortune-hunter? He could not think it. Her pure, strong face
rising before his mental vision seemed to declare the idea absurd. The
man who won her must be worthy of her love and confidence.
"God bless her!" Glynne said within his heart. "Ay, and He will bless
her, for she is as pure and good and unselfish as an angel, and,
whatever her lot may be, she will make others better and happier."
But though he had so high an opinion of the woman he loved, though he
held her exalted above all vulgar conventional notions and aspirations,
one to prize her womanhood more highly than her wealth, his pride yet
saw in her fortune an insurmountable obstacle to his ever offering her
his love.
"Hilda," said Kitty Bland to her sister, two days later, "mother is
going to drive to Wyndham this afternoon. I suppose you will go with
her to see Aldyth?"
They were in the garden. Hilda was stretched comfortably in the
hammock, and Kitty, seated on a chair under the trees, with a basin in
her lap and a basket by her side, was enraged in the homely occupation
of shelling peas.
"I shall do no such thing," said Hilda, pettishly. "It is like you to
suggest it, Kitty. How do you suppose I can bear to go to Wyndham?"
"Very easily," said Kitty, in her most matter-of-fact tone. "You always
have liked going there, and I should think you would like it better
now that Aldyth is at Wyndham, and not that dreadful old Mr. Lorraine.
Oh yes, I know it's bad form to speak the truth of people when they
are dead; but he was horrid. He was for ever annoying people whilst he
lived, and he did his best to make things uncomfortable all round when
he was gone."
"He treated Guy shamefully!" said Hilda, with emphasis. "After the
noble way in which Guy saved his life, it was too bad! I can never bear
to see Wyndham again—the place that I used to think would be my home."
"You have not thought so long," said Kitty, coolly; "it is barely three
months since you became engaged. And, as I so often tell you, you
should not count your chickens before they are hatched."
"At that rate one should never look forward to anything," said Hilda,
discontentedly.
"Well, it is better not," said Kitty. "But, really, the house at Wood
Corner is very nice, Hilda; a much more cheerful place than Wyndham,
which, with that pond and so many trees about the house, always strikes
me as gloomy."
"Oh, Kitty, it is lovely at night to see the moon shining on the pond,
and the nightingales sing so beautifully in the trees!"
"Ah, I forgot; you are romantic, and enjoy that sort of thing,"
remarked Kitty. "You would like to live like Mariana in a moated
grange."
"Oh, don't speak of that!" said Hilda, with a shiver. "I hope I may
never be as wretched as Mariana, though sometimes I think—"
She did not finish her sentence. Kitty saw that tears were in her
sister's eyes, and tried to cheer her by saying, briskly—"Well, I mean
to make the best of things. I am very sorry for Guy's disappointment,
and all that; but since he was not to have the property, I am glad it
has come to our dear old Aldyth. Fancy her owning all those horses!
That's a good thing for me, I know. She will give me a mount whenever I
want one. How I wish she went in for hunting, that we might follow the
hounds together!"
"You think of nothing but your own pleasure, Kitty," said Hilda,
impatiently. "For my part, I am disgusted with Aldyth; I can never feel
towards her as I used."
"Why, what has Aldyth done?" asked Kitty, in the utmost astonishment.
"It is not her fault that her uncle left her the property."
"I am not so sure of that," said Hilda. "Guy thinks she must have
known, and she might have used her influence on his behalf."
"What nonsense!" exclaimed Kitty, warmly. "When did you know Mr.
Stephen Lorraine allow any one to influence him? He always did as he
liked. I am surprised that you should say such a thing of Aldyth. After
all your professions of friendship, too! You ought to know her better
than to suppose that she would willingly supplant Guy!"
But Hilda would not take back her words, nor would she be persuaded
to accompany their mother to Wyndham. She remained at home, sulky and
miserable, whilst Kitty and Mrs. Bland went to see Aldyth.
Mrs. Bland would have been wanting in the natural feelings of a mother
if she had not lamented Guy's altered prospects. She considered that
the young man had been unfairly treated, for although old Stephen had
been very guarded in the conversation he had with her, when he yielded
his consent to an engagement between Hilda and Guy, his manner had
conveyed to her the impression that he meant that his grandnephew
should be his heir. The unexpected turn of affairs consequent on Mr.
Lorraine's decease caused her considerable anxiety, but she never
thought of blaming Aldyth in the matter. She rather felt that the girl
was to be pitied, for she foresaw that Aldyth's inheritance would bring
with it cares and difficulties which would weigh heavily on her young
heart.
So Aldyth saw no change in the face of her old friend, and felt she was
still dear to the motherly heart, which had taught her to place so high
a value on the filial bond.
"Dear Mrs. Bland," she said at once, sure of her sympathy, "I don't
think you need to be told that I would much rather not have had
Wyndham. It is a real pain to me that Guy should go away, and I should
be established here. I would reverse our positions if I could."
"I do not wish them reversed," said Mrs. Bland; "an equal division of
the property would have been the right thing, in my opinion. I always
thought you would have a handsome legacy, Aldyth, for your father was
very dear to Mr. Lorraine and continued to be so to the end, I believe,
in spite of that unhappy estrangement."
"Uncle once spoke to me about Wyndham," said Aldyth, "and I promised
him I would use any influence I had to prevent the old place from being
greatly altered after his death; but I am sure, although he spoke in
that way, I never dreamed that he meant to leave the place to me."
"Of course not, my dear; how should you?" said Mrs. Bland. "Well, it
is a great disappointment for Guy; but perhaps, after all, he will
be none the worse for having to work harder and depend more upon
himself. His marriage must be indefinitely postponed; but they are
young, and a lengthened probation will be a good test of their love.
Hilda, poor child, cannot see it in that light. But here come some more
visitors—Clara Dawtrey and her father, I declare! You will have all
Woodham out here this week, Aldyth."
"I could dispense with much of this civility," said Aldyth, smiling. "I
hate to be treated us if I were somehow different from my former self.
I do hope my friends will not change towards me."
"They are not likely to do that as long as you remain what you are,"
said Mrs. Bland, kissing her.
But Aldyth soon learned with sorrow that Hilda's love for her had
cooled; and perhaps the change which she discerned in another friend
cost her still deeper pain. Mr. Glynne was not amongst those who
traversed the five straight miles of dusty road to pay their respects
to the heiress of Wyndham. Aldyth hardly expected that he would come
unless invited; but when some weeks later she chanced to meet him at
Mrs. Greenwood's, there was such a lack of the old friendliness in his
manner as made it impossible for her to respond to his grave politeness
except with a courtesy equally distant.
Had any one told John Glynne that he had spoken coldly to Aldyth
Lorraine, he would have been surprised. He was conscious of an
inward excitement on seeing her that forced him to exercise strong
self-control. Whilst talking to others he thought only of her, and
nothing that she said or did escaped his notice. But it was impossible
for Aldyth to know this. She was conscious only that he remained aloof
from her, and when others were paying her considerable attention,
appeared indifferent to her presence.
When he quitted the drawing room without having attempted to exchange a
word with her, Aldyth's heart throbbed with painful resentment.
"Why should he be different to me now?" she asked herself. "I never
needed a friend more than I do at this time, and he is so wise and
good; he could advise me, he could help me. There are so many things
I should like to say to him, but I cannot utter a word when he looks
at me in that grave, severe way. Oh, I did think I could rest on his
friendship; but that, too, is slipping away from me."