GUY MAKES A DISCOVERY.
ALDYTH did not remain at Wyndham for more than a week after her uncle's
death. There was something oppressive in the quietness of the old
house, where Guy's gay voice and whistle and the stir of his comings
and goings were greatly missed, and Miss Lorraine, though she drove
into the little town almost every day, pined for the neighbourly
interests of her life at Woodham.
"Let us go back to the cottage, auntie," Aldyth said; "we shall feel
so much more at home there, and we can come out here constantly to see
that things are all right, though there is no doubt Mrs. Rogers will
keep everything in perfect order. Yes, let me go home with you till
mother and Gladys can come to me. Then I will return and endeavour to
rightly discharge my duties as the mistress of Wyndham."
This suggestion was so entirely to Miss Lorraine's mind that she was
at once convinced of its wisdom. Aldyth was in no way bound to take up
her abode at the Hall forthwith. So a day or two later she was again
domiciled in her aunt's home, occupying her old bedroom, and taking up
with a new zest, born of a sense of impermanence, the simple, homely
duties she had always performed. She was living the old life again; but
the familiar surroundings only made her the more conscious of a certain
change in herself. The last few months had enlarged her knowledge of
life; some hopes had been disappointed, some illusions swept away, and
certain grim realities belonging to human lives had been painfully
thrust upon her notice.
As she sat at her writing-table, old thoughts, associated with the
objects, that met her view, came back to her with somewhat of pain in
their memory; the future, so different from anything she had expected,
inspired her with some dread, yet, through all, her inner nature kept
its deep calm. Her heart was too sound for any disappointment to render
her cynical. Perhaps it is not too much to say that no experience can
embitter the heart of a woman who is set upon living the highest life
possible to her, and who thinks less of winning happiness for herself
than of bestowing it on others.
Aldyth had not long returned to Woodham when an event occurred which
cast a shadow on the social life of the little town. Mrs. Greenwood,
the banker's bright, clever wife, had never been a strong woman, though
her remarkable energy hid the fact from ordinary acquaintances. Her
sudden death, from an unsuspected heart disease, was a sad shock to her
friends. A woman of keen intellect and cultured tastes, she had taken
the greatest interest in Mr. Glynne's lectures, and done her utmost to
make them a success. She was ready to lend her help to any scheme that
would promote the social welfare of the town. Without children of her
own, she found intense enjoyment in the society of young people, and
many a party of them she gathered in her large drawing room or in the
fine old garden which lay behind the bank. Aldyth Lorraine had been a
great favourite with her, and the girl felt that she had lost a friend
whom she could ill spare.
Much sympathy was felt for Mr. Greenwood, a man verging upon sixty
years of age, whose home must now be so desolate.
It was manifested on the funeral day, when many persons met in the
pretty cemetery just beyond the town on the London road, to see the
coffin, with its pall of flowers, lowered into the earth. Aldyth had
come with her aunt, and, the brief service over, she caught sight of
Kitty Bland standing at a little distance, who beckoned to her to join
her.
"Let us wait till the others have gone," she said, as Aldyth approached
her; "I don't want to walk back with them and hear them talking it
over."
"Willingly," said Aldyth; and they turned to the more secluded part of
the cemetery and sat down in the shade of some old elms.
Miss Lorraine, who did enjoy "talking it over," had walked on with
acquaintances.
"So Hilda has not come?" said Aldyth.
"No," said Kitty, drily. "She says she cannot bear to go to a funeral,
she is so sensitive, the impression remains with her for days."
"I did not wish to come," said Aldyth, "but aunt said she thought it
would seem kind to Mr. Greenwood, though I am quite sure he could not
notice who were here. I do not want to associate dear Mrs. Greenwood
with the grave. She was so bright and good; she seemed all spirit, and
I try to think of her as having entered upon a freer and more blessed
state of existence."
"Yes, that is the right way to think of her," said Kitty. "I will tell
you what Mr. Glynne said the other day; I thought it was so nice of
him. He overtook me as I was coming up the street, and we walked a few
steps together. We met little Dottie Greenwood and her nurse, and the
child—you know how fond she is of him—ran up to him and said, with such
a sorrowful look on her sweet little face,—
"'Dear Aunt Mary is so ill that she is dead.'
"'But she is not ill now,' he said as he kissed her; 'Aunt Mary is
quite well now.'
"And Dottie, smiled and repeated, 'Yes, Aunt Mary is quite well now.'
"It touched me so, somehow; and yet he only said what we all profess to
believe. Mr. Glynne is very good, don't you think?"
"I am sure of it," Aldyth said, and was silent. She never said many
words about John Glynne.
"He must feel Mrs. Greenwood's death very much," continued Kitty. "She
was a good friend to him, and he was often at her house."
Aldyth had more than once heard Mrs. Greenwood profess a high regard
for John Glynne, but she did not remark on it.
"Mother says she is thankful Mr. Glynne came to Woodham," continued
Kitty. "Charlie has so improved. It is wonderful how fond the boys are
of Mr. Glynne, and what influence he has over them. He never seems to
lecture them, but he has a knack of saying just the right word at the
right time. And then I think his example impresses them. He is such a
perfect gentleman, though really I believe it is higher praise to say
that he is a thorough man—so strong, and true, and brave."
"His life was gentle, and the elements
So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up
And say to all the world, 'This was a man!'"
thought Aldyth. But she did not give Kitty the benefit of the
quotation. She was content to contribute nothing to the conversation
when it reached this point; but it was not because the subject of it
was uninteresting to her.
"Guy was not here," remarked Kitty, after a pause. "I thought he would
be. I wonder if he will honour Hilda with a visit this evening."
Kitty's manner of saying this was so peculiar that Aldyth looked at her
in some surprise.
"Honour Hilda!" she said. "That's a strange expression to use, Kitty."
"I do believe he regards his visits as an honour," said Kitty, with
scorn in her tone. "I would not put up with such a lover if I were
Hilda."
"Why, what is amiss with him?" asked Aldyth, quickly.
"Oh, it makes me wild to see the way he treats Hilda," said Kitty,
with sudden warmth. "He keeps away from her for days; he shows the
utmost indifference to her wishes; he makes it only too plain that his
feelings towards her have changed, and he means her to understand that
it is so."
"Oh, Kitty! You don't say so!" exclaimed Aldyth, her voice full of
pain. "You must be mistaken. Why, he was so fond of Hilda that he
risked uncle's anger for her sake."
"Ah, yes; but he never expected to lose all for love," replied Kitty.
"His love could not stand that trial. He has never been the same to
Hilda since Mr. Lorraine died."
"Then his was not true love," said Aldyth, indignantly. "Such love is
not worthy of the name."
"So I think," said Kitty. "If I were Hilda, I would soon tell my
gentleman to march. I really believe he wants her to break off the
engagement, but she will not see it."
"Poor Hilda!" said Aldyth. "Oh, it is disgraceful of Guy! I did think
he really cared for Hilda."
Kitty shrugged her shoulders.
"Preserve me from such a lover!" she said. "I am sorry for Hilda, but
really I feel out of patience with her sometimes. She ought to see the
true state of things; but she only cherishes her wounded feelings,
and thinks herself the most unhappy of girls. She said this morning
she wished she were going to be laid in the grave instead of Mrs.
Greenwood."
"Oh, it is very sad for her," said Aldyth, tears springing to her eyes.
"I feel almost as if it were my fault; and yet—and yet—if Guy can so
easily change, it is better she should know it now."
"That is what mother and I say," remarked Kitty; "but of course we dare
not hint at such a thing to Hilda. We have to ignore that there is
anything wrong. But I do wish she would pluck up spirit and act as she
should. If she would talk to you about it, perhaps you could give her a
little advice."
But Aldyth knew that Hilda was not likely to approach the subject with
her. Confidences between them had ceased. With her return to Woodham,
Aldyth had resumed the old friendly intercourse with the Blands, but
she could not break down the barrier of coldness and constraint by
which Hilda kept her at arm's length.
"Kitty," said Aldyth, a little later, as they took their way down the
hill, "I am going to Wyndham early to-morrow. Could you go with me and
spend the day? We would have a ride in the afternoon; the horses must
need exercise."
"Oh, Aldyth, how good of you! Of course I can come," said Kitty,
delighted. "I have been longing for a ride. And you won't tell mother
if I try some of the fences, will you? I'll promise not to break my
neck."
"That is more than you can promise," said Aldyth, laughing.
The hot July and August days passed pleasantly away, and were spent
so much in the old manner that Aldyth was often able to forget that
she was the heiress of Wyndham. Gwendolen Bland had come home for her
holidays, determined to put as much enjoyment into them as possible.
There were tennis-parties and picnics, boating on the river both
in sunshine and by moonlight, school treats, flower shows, harvest
festivals, and all the various entertainments common to country life to
be participated in. It was a vexation to Clara Dawtrey that Mr. Glynne
was not on the ground, to see how well she played her part in the
annual tournament given by the Woodham Tennis Club; but he had left the
town when the Grammar School holidays began, and would not return till
September.
Aldyth received bright letters from Eastbourne, where her mother and
Gladys were having a good time. Nelly, who missed Aldyth, and could
hardly forgive her for refusing an invitation to join them, was less
content. It had been decided that Mrs. Stanton and Gladys were to visit
Wyndham in the autumn; but no date had been fixed for their coming,
and at present they seemed disposed to stay on at Eastbourne into
September. Aldyth was looking forward with pleasure to welcoming her
mother, and took trouble to get the house and garden at Wyndham into as
nice order as possible, so as to please her mother's eyes.
"Do you think I might have the furniture re-covered, auntie?" she said
one afternoon, when she and Miss Lorraine were in the old drawing room
at Wyndham. "I can't have a new carpet and new curtains without having
something done to the chairs and sofas."
"I would buy new furniture if I were you," said Miss Lorraine. "Uncle
often talked of refurnishing this room."
"Yes, when Guy was married," said Aldyth with a smile. "I don't think
anything less than a wedding would justify such an outlay. But really
I have no wish to banish these spindle-legged chairs; they are quite
in correct 'high art' style, and as for that carved ebony chair, I
believe it would fetch a hundred guineas at Christie's. When I get my
blue-green upholstery and an Oriental carpet, you won't know the room."
"It will be a great improvement, no doubt," said Miss Lorraine;
"there's some old blue china in the store-room you might make use of
for decorative purposes."
"The very thing!" cried Aldyth, gleefully.
She was beginning to take some pleasure in her possessions. She had
fine taste, and an artistic sense of colour; it was an enjoyment to
her to plan the re-arrangement of her drawing room. She had dragged
the large, old-fashioned settee from its place against the wall; she
had pushed the ebony chair well into the light, and thrown the faded
antimacassar which covered it on to the floor, when the sound of a
quick, firm step in the hall surprised her.
"Why, that is never Guy," she said; "I fancied he had vowed not to
cross the threshold of the Hall again."
"It certainly sounds like his step," said Miss Lorraine, and she
hastily opened the door.
It was Guy, and the next moment he stood in the doorway.
Aldyth coloured. She would have preferred that he should not find her
turning things about in the old drawing room. It must be painful to him
to be thus reminded of her possession of Wyndham.
But Guy showed no annoyance, though he appeared a trifle embarrassed as
he entered. He quickly recovered himself, however, and began to exhibit
a good humour which astonished Aldyth, who had seen scarcely anything
of her cousin since he quitted Wyndham. When they had happened to meet,
he had maintained towards her a chilling courtesy; but now, here was
the Guy of other days, as bright and kind as if nothing had happened to
alienate them.
"I've come at the right time," he said, apparently unaware that there
was anything surprising in his appearance. "I see you want a little
help. Aldyth, don't attempt to move that chair; it's too heavy for you.
Cousin Lucy, you want those curtains taken down, don't you? I'll tackle
that. If you want a handy man to do your jobs, here I am."
Miss Lorraine laughed, and looked delighted to see him in this mood.
It was impossible for her long to regard Guy with disapproval. She had
told herself it was but natural he should resent Aldyth's acquisition
of the property. His uncle had not dealt well with him. So she welcomed
with joy this manifestation of the old friendliness, and was ready to
do all in her power to cement the reconciliation.
And Aldyth, too, was pleased. It would have pained her to feel that
any one regarded her as an enemy, and it had especially grieved her
that her old playmate and cousin should look on her with coldness and
suspicion. With one accord the two exerted themselves to "make much" of
Guy, so that he found it easy to establish himself on the old footing
at Wyndham.
"We shall have tea almost directly," said Miss Lorraine. "You will stay
and take some with us?"
"Of course you will," said Aldyth, scarce letting him reply. "There is
nothing more to be done here. I was only trying effects. Come into the
garden and help me get some flowers for the vases."
"With pleasure," said Guy.
It was just what he wanted, to be alone with her. So, having found
basket and scissors, they went forth. The late sun was sending its long
rays across the newly-mown lawn, and lighting up the golden hearts of
the water-lilies floating on their broad leaves in the centre of the
pond. Beyond the garden, visible through an opening in the trees, a
harvest field, with its busy workers gathered about the heaped-up cart,
made a charming picture.
"And how is Hilda?" asked Aldyth, lightly. "I have not seen her for the
last few days."
"She is very well, I believe," he said, but with something so unusual
in his voice and manner that Aldyth looked at him curiously.
"When are you coming to the Farm?" he asked, the next minute. "You must
pay me a visit some day. I have got things pretty tidy there, though
not, of course, just as you would arrange them."
"Ah, you cannot expect the house to look quite as it should till Hilda
reigns there as mistress," said Aldyth, with a smile. But the smile
died away as, glancing at him, she saw the strange effect of her words.
Guy's face had grown crimson; he looked painfully confused, and seemed
anxious to avoid her glance, as he stood beating the grass with his
stick. But it was impossible to evade the consciousness that Aldyth's
eyes were upon him, and that she waited for an explanation of his too
evident confusion.
"You must not speak of that, Aldyth," he said, with an effort; "Hilda
will never be the mistress of my home. In fact—I came here to tell
you—our engagement is at an end."
"Oh, Guy!" was all Aldyth could say.
"Yes, it is so," he said, finding words more readily now. "And, on the
whole—though, of course it has all been excessively trying—I believe it
is for the best. We are not in the least suited to each other."
[Illustration]
"I never thought that you were." The words slipped from Aldyth almost
unawares. "But what a pity," she added quickly, "you did not find this
out before; it would have spared Hilda so much suffering."
"It was a pity," he said gravely; "but you are hardly the one to
reproach me, Aldyth, since it was mainly your fault."
"My fault! What do you mean?" she demanded.
"You know of whom I first thought," he said, insinuatingly; "I hoped I
had overcome that feeling. I fancied I could love Hilda, but I found it
was a mistake."
"Do not speak of that, if you please, Guy!" cried Aldyth, her eyes
flashing indignation on him. "I will not hear such words. I cannot
trust myself to say what I think of your conduct, it seems to me so
unworthy a man, not to say a gentleman."
She turned from him in anger as Miss Lorraine appeared at the drawing
room window, beckoning to them to come in. Aldyth had to fly to her
room to cool her burning cheeks and recover self-possession ere she
took her place at the tea-table.
"To think that men are like that!" she said to herself; with a feeling
of general distrust. "And Hilda, I have not a doubt, is at this moment
breaking her heart for his sake. Poor girl, how I pity her! And yet I
can easily see that this sorrow may be a blessing in disguise."
Aldyth scarcely spoke to Guy during the remainder of his visit, but
Miss Lorraine continued to pet him, and his self-complacency showed no
reduction.