TUESDAY.
That open grassy spot in the dense shadow of the west woods was just
the place for a picnic, and it looked very bright and pleasant that
warm June afternoon, with the rustic table so fancifully arranged, the
camp stools scattered over the lawn, and the bouquets of flowers
depending from the trees.
Fanny Hetherton had given it her whole care, aided and abetted by Dr.
Bellamy, what time he could spare from Lucy, who, imbued with a mortal
fear of insects, seemed this day to gather scores of bugs and worms
upon her dress and hair, screaming with every worm and bringing the
doctor obediently to her aid.
"I'd stay at home, I think, if I was silly enough to be afraid of a
harmless caterpillar like that," Fanny had said, as with her own hands
she took from Lucy's curls and threw away a thousand-legged thing, the
very sight of which made poor Lucy shiver but did not send her to the
house.
She was too much interested and too eagerly expectant of what the
afternoon would bring, and so she perched herself upon the fence where
nothing but ants could molest her, and finished the bouquets which
Fanny hung upon the trees until the lower limbs seemed one mass of
blossoms and the air was filled with the sweet perfume.
Lucy was bewitchingly beautiful that afternoon in her dress of white,
her curls tied up with a blue ribbon, and her fair arms bare nearly to
the shoulders. Fanny, whose arms were neither plump nor white, had
expostulated with her cousin upon this style of dress, suggesting that
one as delicate as she could not fail to take a heavy cold when the
dews began to fall, but Lucy would not listen. Arthur Leighton had
told her once that he liked her with bare arms, and bare they should
be. She was bending every energy to please and captivate him, and a
cold was of no consequence provided she succeeded. So, like some
little fairy, she danced and flitted about, making fearful havoc with
Dr. Bellamy's wits and greatly vexing Fanny, who hailed with delight
the arrival of Mrs. Meredith and Anna. The latter was very pretty and
very becomingly attired in a light airy dress of blue, finished at the
throat and wrists with an edge of soft, fine lace. She, too, had
thought of Arthur in the making of her toilet, and it was for him that
the white rosebuds were placed in her heavy braids of hair and
fastened on her belt. She was very sorry that she had allowed herself
to be vexed with Lucy Harcourt for her familiarity with Mr. Leighton,
very hopeful that he had not observed it, and very certain now of his
preference for herself. She would be very gracious that afternoon, she
thought, and not one bit jealous of Lucy, though she called him Arthur
a hundred times.
Thus it was in the most amiable of moods that Anna appeared upon the
lawn, where she was warmly welcomed by Lucy, who, seizing both her
hands, led her away to see the arrangements, chatting gayly all the
time, and casting rapid glances up the lane, as if in quest of some
one.
"I'm so glad you've come. I've thought of you so much. Do you know it
seems to me there must be some bond of sympathy between us, or I
should not like you so well at once? I drove by the rectory early this
morning--the dearest little place, with such a lovely garden. Arthur
was working in it, and I made him give me some roses. See, I have one
in my curls. Then, when he brought them to the carriage, I kept him
there while I asked numberless questions about you, and heard from him
just how good you are, and how you help him in the Sunday-school and
everywhere, visiting the poor, picking up ragged children and doing
things I never thought of doing; but I am not going to be so useless
any longer, and the next time you visit some of the very miserablest I
want you to take me with you. Do you ever meet Arthur there? Oh, here
he comes," and with a bound, Lucy darted away from Anna toward the
spot where the rector stood receiving Mrs. and Miss Hetherton's
greeting.
As Lucy had said, she had driven by the rectory, with no earthly
object but the hope of seeing the rector, and had hurt him cruelly
with her questionings of Anna, and annoyed him a little with her
anxious inquiries as to the cause of his pallid face and sunken eyes;
but she was so bewitchingly pretty, and so thoroughly kind withal,
that he could not be annoyed long, and he felt better for having seen
her bright, coquettish face, and listened to her childish prattle. It
was a great trial for him to attend the picnic that afternoon, but he
met it bravely, and schooled himself to appear as if there were no
such things in the world as aching hearts and cruel disappointments.
His face was very pale, but his recent headache would account for
that, and he acted his part successfully, shivering a little, it is
true, when Anna expressed her sorrow that he should suffer so often
from these attacks, and suggested that he take a short vacation and go
with them to Saratoga.
"I should so much like to have you," she said, and her clear, honest
eyes looked him straight in the face, as she asked why he could not.
"What does she mean?" the rector thought. "Is she trying to tantalize
me? I expected her to be natural, as her aunt laid great stress on
that, but she need not overdo the matter by showing me how little she
cares for having hurt me so."
Then, as a flash of pride came to his aid, he thought, "I will at
least be even with her. She shall not have the satisfaction of
guessing how much I suffer," and as Lucy then called to him from the
opposite side of the lawn, he asked Anna to accompany him thither,
just as he would have done a week before. Once that afternoon he found
himself alone with her in a quiet part of the woods, where the long
branches of a great oak came nearly to the ground, and formed a little
bower which looked so inviting that Anna sat down upon the gnarled
roots of the tree, and, tossing her hat upon the grass, exclaimed,
"How nice and pleasant it is here. Come, sit down, too, while I tell
you about my class in Sunday-school, and that poor Mrs. Hobbs across
the mill stream. You won't forget her, will you? I told her you would
visit her the oftener when I was gone. Do you know she cried because I
was going? It made me feel so badly that I doubted if it was right for
me to go," and, pulling down a handful of the oak leaves above her
head, Anna began weaving together a chaplet, while the rector stood
watching her with a puzzled expression upon his face. She did not act
as if she ever could have dictated that letter, but he had no
suspicion of the truth and answered rather coldly, "I did not suppose
you cared how much we might miss you at home."
Something in his tone made Anna look up into his face, and her eyes
immediately filled with tears, for she knew that in some way she had
displeased him.
"Then you mistake me," she replied, the tears still glittering on her
long eyelashes, and her fingers trembling among the oaken leaves. "I
do care whether I am missed or not."
"Missed by whom?" the rector asked, and Anna impetuously replied,
"Missed by the parish poor, and by you, too, Mr. Leighton. You don't
know how often I shall think of you, or how sorry I am that----"
She did not finish the sentence, for the rector had leaped madly at
the conclusion, and was down in the grass at her side with both her
hands in his.
"Anna, oh Anna," he began so pleadingly, "have you repented of your
decision? Tell me that you have and it will make me so happy. I have
been so wretched ever since."
She thought he meant her decision about going to Saratoga, and she
replied: "I have not repented, Mr. Leighton. Aunt Meredith thinks it
best, and so do I, though I am sorry for you, if you really do care so
much."
Anna was talking blindly, her thoughts upon one subject, while the
rector's were upon another, and matters were getting somewhat mixed
when, "Arthur, Arthur, where are you?" came ringing through the woods
and Lucy Harcourt appeared, telling them that the refreshments were
ready.
"We are only waiting for you two, wondering where you had gone, but
never dreaming that you had stolen away to make love," she said,
playfully, adding more earnestly as she saw the traces of agitation
visible in Anna's face, "and I do believe you were. If so, I beg
pardon for my intrusion."
She spoke a little sharply and glanced inquiringly at Mr. Leighton;
who, feeling that he had virtually been repulsed a second time by
Anna, answered her, "On the contrary, I am very glad you came, and so,
I am sure, is Miss Anna. I am ready to join you at the table. Come,
Anna, they are waiting," and he offered his arm to the bewildered
girl, who replied, "Not just now, please. Leave me for a moment. I
won't be long."
Very curiously Lucy looked at Anna and then at Mr. Leighton, who,
fully appreciating the feelings of the latter, said, by way of
explanation: "You see, she has not quite finished that chaplet, which,
I suspect, is intended for you. I think we had better leave her," and,
drawing Lucy's hand under his own, he walked away, leaving Anna more
stunned and pained than she had ever been before. Surely if love had
ever spoken in tone and voice and manner, it had spoken when Mr.
Leighton was kneeling on the grass, holding her hands in his. "Anna,
oh, Anna!" How she had thrilled at the sound of those words and waited
for what might follow next. Why had his manner changed so suddenly,
and why had he been so glad to be interrupted? Had he really no
intention of making love to her, and if he had, why did he rouse her
hopes so suddenly and then cruelly dash them to the ground? Was it
that he loved Lucy best, and that the sight of her froze the words
upon his lips?
"Let him take her, then. He is welcome, for all of me," she thought;
and then, as a keen pang of shame and disappointment swept over her,
she laid her head for a moment upon the grass and wept bitterly. "He
must have seen what I expected and I care most for that," she sobbed,
resolving henceforth to guard herself at every point and do all that
lay in her power to further Lucy's interests, "He will thus see how
little I really care," she thought, and, lifting up her head, she tore
in fragments the wreath she had been making, but which she could not
now place on the head of her rival.
Mr. Leighton was flirting terribly with her when she joined the party
assembled around the table, and he never once looked at Anna, though
he saw that her plate was well supplied with the best of everything,
and when at one draught she drained her glass of ice-water, he quietly
placed another within her reach, standing a little before her and
trying evidently to shield her from too critical observation. There
were two at least who were glad when the picnic was over, and various
were the private opinions of the company with regard to the
entertainment. Dr. Bellamy, who had been repeatedly foiled in his
attempts to be especially attentive to Lucy Harcourt, pronounced the
whole thing "a bore." Fanny, who had been highly displeased with the
doctor's deportment, came to the conclusion that the enjoyment did not
compensate for all the trouble, and while the rector thought he had
never spent a more thoroughly wretched day, and Anna would have given
worlds if she had stayed at home, Lucy declared that never in her life
had she had so perfectly delightful a time, always excepting, of
course, "that moonlight sail in Venice."