Suddenly Jean wrapped herself in a mantle of reserve. Not even to
Vanna, her chosen confidante, did she express surprise at Gloucester's
sudden appearance, or make one single comment, favourable or the
reverse. Driving home in Mrs Rendall's carriage, she maintained her
fair share in the conversation, and betrayed no sign of embarrassment.
That she was embarrassed Vanna knew by the tone of her voice, which was
wont to take a higher, shriller note on such occasions; but neither
Gloucester nor Miggles was likely to recognise so subtle a betrayal.
The old lady was evidently greatly taken with the new acquaintance, and
invited him to dinner at the end of the drive.
"We are only three women, very dull for a young man, but as you are
alone in the inn--so unhomelike, inn-parlours!--if you _would_ care to
dine at seven o'clock, pot luck, just a simple meal! Don't dress; it's
a picnic life down here, and the girls like to run about as long as it
keeps light."
Miggles had reigned as mistress of Mr Goring's home for so many years
that, failing the second wife's presence, she still managed the
household, without any attempt at interference from her old pupil. Jean
had no ambition for domestic responsibilities; looking after a house was
dull, stodgy work, Miggles liked it, then for goodness' sake let her do
it; she had no wish to exercise her prerogative. It was Miggles,
therefore, who gave the newcomer his first invitation to the Cottage,
but when Robert's eyes turned to the girl with an involuntary question,
Jean was ready with a gracious support.
"We are very quiet, as Miss Miggs says. Next week father brings down
the family, and it will be livelier; but if you care to risk it, we
shall be pleased."
"Seven o'clock. Thank you!" said Robert simply. He took his leave for
the time being, and the ladies entered the Cottage.
"We had better get our letters written, as we shall not have time later
on," said Jean calmly. Even when seated with Vanna at the same
writing-table she made no reference to the event of the afternoon. It
might have been the most natural thing in the world for Robert
Gloucester to leave his old friends in less than a week after his return
from India, in order to have the privilege of fishing with a strange
elderly gentleman. When the letters were finished, she talked on
indifferent subjects, gaily, lovingly, intimately as ever, yet with a
certain carriage of the head, a set of the lips which seemed to send
forth an unspoken warning, "Until now my heart has lain bare before you,
but to-day there has entered into it something so intimate, so sacred,
that it cannot be revealed to any human gaze. _Touch me not_!" And
Vanna understood, and was silent.
Robert Gloucester came back to dinner and sat at the head of the table
opposite Miggles, the two girls seated one on either side. A bowl of
roses stood in the centre of the table; roses twined round the framework
of the opened window; tiny sprays of roses wandered over the muslin of
Jean's gown. They talked of books, of pictures, of foreign lands, of
things extraordinary, and things prosaic. When Robert recounted
experiences abroad, the two girls questioned him as to scenery and
environment, and Miggles wished to know what he had had to eat, and if
there was any means of drying his clothes.
Gloucester also entered into details about his business life, and the
failure of his investments, explaining his present monetary position
with an incredible frankness.
"It seemed an awfully good thing, perfectly sound, but it came a jolly
big crash. I was fortunate to get out of it as well as I did. I
haven't been fortunate in my speculations. Between them I've dropped
almost all my capital. I have a share or two in a bank paying rattling
good interest, and the firm pay me a fair salary, and that's all that is
left."
"Oh, we know you don't mean _that_," laughed Miggles easily. "It will
all go on quite nicely, I am sure, and you will be settling down and
marrying, of course."
"Of course," said Robert Gloucester.
There was something so exquisitely unusual about his frank avowal of
poverty that Vanna had hard work to keep a straight face. What to
another man would have been a secret between himself and his banker
weighed so heavily on Robert Gloucester's candid soul that he must needs
blurt it out on the first possible occasion. Vanna knew intuitively the
exact workings of his mind: he had come down to Seacliff to woo Jean for
his wife. Jean must know from the beginning exactly what he had to
offer; not for a single evening could she be allowed to think of him in
a setting which did not exist. "He had not been lucky in his
speculations." Unnecessary explanation! It was from guileless natures
such as his that the fraudulent made their hoards. The national savings
bank would be the only safe resting-place for Robert Gloucester's money.
When the simple meal was over the two girls accompanied their guest into
the garden and sat beside him while he smoked. He neither offered
cigarettes to them, nor did they dream of providing them on their own
account. In the seventies it was still a rare and petrifying experience
to see a young girl smoke. The heroine of to-day is depicted to us as
making dainty play with her cigarette, or blowing smoke-rings with
unequalled grace. If the tips of her fingers are also stained yellow
with nicotine, and her clothes diffuse an atmosphere of a
smoking-carriage, these details are mercifully concealed. Jean and
Vanna at least had no hankerings after this masculine amusement.
Once and again as the time passed by, Robert looked fixedly at Vanna,
and grey eyes and brown exchanged an unspoken duel. "Leave us alone!"
entreated the brown. "You know; you understand! As you are wise be
merciful..."
"Not one step!" replied the grey. "Here I am, and here I stay. This is
my post, and I will stick to it."
"Be hanged to your post! You take too much upon yourself. Hand over
your post to me. Think of the difficulties, the contrivings, the
explainings I have had to undergo before getting away from town!"
"You had no business to leave..."
Vanna stuck obstinately to her guns, and at last Gloucester abandoned
his efforts. Another man would have been angry, impatient, would have
eyed her with cold antagonism, but Robert betrayed no irritation.
Rather did his brown eyes dilate with mischievous amusement as they met
her own.
"Please yourself," they seemed to say. "Do your little best. Erect
your puny barriers. A day or two more or less--what does it matter?
The end is sure."
The Cottage with its sloping garden was perched high on the side of one
of two outstanding cliffs which formed a deep, narrow bay. So far did
these chalk-walls jut out, so narrow was the space between, that the
view from the land had a confined, stage-like effect. The coast-line on
either side was completely hidden from sight, only the blue-green waters
stretched ahead, but these waters were one of the highways of a nation's
life, and o'er its surface all kinds of craft passed to and fro, in
endless panorama. When the tide was up, the great steamers could safely
take the inshore channel, while near at hand, and looking as if one
could, in nautical language, "throw a biscuit aboard," the smaller craft
plied their way to and fro. Now it would be a small sailing barge, with
captain, mate, and crew, comprised in one single hand, anon a
white-sailed yacht, with gleaming brass-work and spotless paint, or a
coasting collier, grimy and drab, her screw out of water, as she churned
her homeward way. In fine weather coasting passenger-boats ventured
near shore, while farther off the pilot-boats of many nations could be
discerned, decked with gay strings of signalling flags, and the busy
tugs plied far and near, endlessly on the watch for chances of salvage.
One misty day as Jean sat perched alone on the edge of the railed-in
garden, at a point from which she could have dropped a stone into the
sea beneath, a smooth grey keel glided noiselessly round the corner of
the cliff, and another, and yet a third--low-built, ominous-looking
monsters, the colour of the fog, the colour of the waves, Her Majesty's
battleships, each bearing on board its complement of seven hundred men.
To-night, as the daylight faded slowly away, the different lights at sea
attracted the watching eye. From the left came a merry, starlike
twinkle, as from a faithful friend who kept firmly to his post; beyond
him in the dim distance was the humourist, who for ten seconds on end
indulged in a stony stare, then darkened, gave two cunning winks, and so
again to his stare. Right ahead was the big revolving light which, like
a constable afloat, divided the traffic--"This way for the river, that
for the North Sea!" High over all swung the rays from the great
lighthouse on the downs.
Presently round the farther cliff came a great ocean liner, its cabin
windows showing out a blaze of light, the throb, throb of its engines
heard distinctly in the distance, a floating city, bearing home an army
of men: the man who had toiled and reaped his reward; the man who had
toiled and failed, the idler, the drone, the remittance man back again
to prey on his friends; the bridegroom speeding to his bride; the
trembler, to whom the wires had flashed a message of tragedy; the
sinner, fleeing from justice, the pleasure lover seeking a new world.
Those brilliantly lighted rooms held them all. Up the long channel they
sailed; past the shifty sand-banks, past the hidden rocks; gliding
smoothly along the beaten track, while the captain stood on his bridge
and grew pale beneath his tan. Until the dangerous channel was
navigated, he would not leave his post.
The three who were seated on the garden bench watched the great vessel
in silence until she disappeared behind the cliff.
"A week ago," said Robert softly, "a week ago I was steaming along this
very coast. Only one little week!"
He broke off suddenly, and there was no response, but Vanna felt Jean's
fingers twitch within her arm. Was she too beginning to realise the
bearing of this week upon her own life?
During the days which elapsed before Mr and Mrs Goring and the two
schoolboys arrived at the Cottage, Jean kept sedulously by her friend's
side, and allowed Robert Gloucester no chance of a _tete-a-tete_.
Instead of being ordered to keep her distance, as on the occasion of
Piers Rendall's visit, Vanna was held firmly by the arm, invited to join
every expedition, considered so necessary that, without her company no
expedition could be faced. Where Jean went, Vanna must needs go also;
who wished to see one, must see the other also.
But when the family arrived, the chaperonage could no longer be
preserved. The Cottage was crowded to its fullest limit. Miggles was
busy with household affairs. Mr Goring, his wife, the two schoolboys,
all made their own demands on the girls' time. If Jean were bidden to
accompany her father for a walk along the downs, Vanna must needs hunt
for crabs among the rocks below. If Vanna was writing letters to
tradespeople, Jean must run to the village and order cakes for tea.
Young girls should make themselves useful; a daughter should be ready to
wait on her father; a sister should be glad to amuse her brothers in
their holidays. In these days it was worth while for an occupant of the
inn-parlour to keep a sharp lookout on the winding path leading from the
cliff to the village, for if by chance a girl's graceful form were seen
descending, there was time to snatch hat and stick, and reach the corner
of the road at the same moment as herself.
Jean, intercepted on her way to fulfil a commission, and without
possibility of escape, would promptly adopt an air of freezing dignity,
reply in monosyllables, and hurry through her work in the shortest
possible space of time; but no amount of coldness, of snubbing, or
neglect could damp the ardour of Gloucester's pursuit. Before a week
was past, the budding romance was discerned not only by the different
members of the household, but by the village _en bloc_; and while
parents discussed prospects and settlements, and the schoolboys planned
holiday visits to "Jean's house," Mrs Jones of the general stores moved
the position of a row of sweet-bottles in the shop window, in order to
enjoy a better view of the daily encounter, and the boatmen waiting
impatiently for customers consulted their watches on the appearance of
either of the interesting couple, and indulging an apparently ingrained
habit, bet pennies together concerning the time which would elapse
before the advent of "t'other," And still Jean wrapped herself in her
mantle of reserve, and refused to mention Gloucester's name even in
private conclave with her friend.
Piers Rendall often walked over to the Cottage to spend some hours of
the day with his friends, and, strange as it might appear, the two young
men seemed mutually attracted to each other. Vanna believing them both
to be in love with the same girl, was constantly watching for signs of
jealousy and irritation, but none appeared. If Piers was occasionally
somewhat silent and distrait, the fact did not interfere with his
transparent enjoyment of Gloucester's company; while Robert himself
seemed to take a positive pride and pleasure in the knowledge of the
other's devotion.
"He admires her desperately, doesn't he? Every one does. There are
dozens of fellows head over heels in love with her, I suppose. Scores!
She must be kept busy refusing them, poor fellows! Hard lines for a
girl, especially when she is so sweet and sensitive, and sympathetic,
and--"
Vanna threw up her hand with a comical little grimace of appeal.
"That's enough, that's enough! Three adjectives are quite a good
allowance for one sentence. Spare me the rest. Miss Goring has a
charming disposition, and she is duly appreciated. That's settled. Now
we'll talk of something else. How did the fishing go this morning? A
good haul?"
They looked at each other and laughed with mischievous enjoyment. Each
time they found themselves alone the same thing happened. Gloucester
persistently endeavoured to talk about Jean; Vanna as persistently
turned the subject. On both sides the contest was conducted with
absolute good humour. It was as amusing as a game, in which each tried
to outwit the other, to set for him an unconscious trap and pitfall.
To-day they walked along the country lanes, Jean and Piers Rendall
ahead, Miggles bringing up the rear, with a schoolboy hanging on each
arm. These two lads, Jack and Pat, adored the old woman who had been
their confidante and mentor from their earliest years, and there was
literally no end to the sympathetic interest which she bestowed upon
them. Father and mother might weary of eternal cricket and sixth-form
reminiscences, and impatiently suggest bed or a book. Jean might, and
did, wax frankly cross and bored, but Miggles never failed to produce a
due display of surprise; never denied the expected admiration, nor
shirked a question which gave the conversation a new turn of life. At
this moment Vanna could hear Pat's voice reeling off the everlasting
details:
"Smith, major, was bowling his hardest--he's a terror to bowl--and the
pitch was fast, and a ball got up, and got me on the shoulder--"
"Dear, dear, think of that! And you went on playing? You _are_ brave!
And made a fine score too, I'll be bound!"
How much of Miggles's happiness did she owe to this blessed capacity for
sympathy in the interests of others?
The destination of this afternoon's walk was a little wood lying about a
mile inland, and as a short cut across country, Jean and Piers led the
way through a farmyard, and thence on to a winding lane, sunk deep
between two hedgerows, fragrant with honeysuckle and wild rose. To
right and left lay the fields belonging to the farm; pleasant fields of
wheat and corn, of delicate, green-eared barley, of sweet-smelling
beans.
It was a typical English lane; a perfect English afternoon, not typical,
alas! except so far as it demonstrated the perfection to which our
erratic climate can occasionally attain. The sky overhead was deeply,
uncloudedly blue; the sea in the distance the clear, soft green of an
aquamarine, sparkling with a thousand points of light; all that the eye
could see was beautiful and harmonious; all that the ear could hear,
peaceful and serene; laughter, happy voices, the soaring notes of a
lark; all things animate and inanimate seemed to speak of peace and
happiness; and then suddenly, horribly, the scene changed. What had
appeared the distant lowing of cattle, swelled into a threatening roar;
a man shouted loudly, and his call was echoed by many voices, by a
clamour of sound, by high, warning cries. From the far end of the
narrow lane came the sound of galloping feet--heavy, thundering feet
seeming to shake the ground; light, racing feet pursuing; swifter
footsteps, which were yet mysteriously left behind. Borne on the air
came the cries of men's voices, and ever and anon that deep, dull roar.
Nearer and nearer drew the danger, but the tall hedges hid it from
sight.
Jean and Piers turned hurriedly back; Miggles and the boys hurried
forward to where Vanna and Gloucester stood, the centre of the group.
The two men exchanged swift, anxious glances, divining, without
consultation, the nature of the danger--a bull, escaped from its chain,
rushing towards them. What could be done?
The towering hedges gave no chance of escape, and so far as the eye
could reach there was neither gate nor entrance into the fields. Before
there was time to consult or to issue directions, the danger was upon
them. With incredible swiftness, within as it seemed one moment from
the time when the first cry had burst upon their ears, the danger was at
hand.
Round a corner of the road the huge beast rushed into view; a terrible,
nerve-shattering sight, filling up, as it seemed, the whole space of the
narrow path, pawing the earth, sending up clouds of dust, bellowing with
rage and fear. Breathless with horror, they stood and watched it come.
And then a strange thing happened. At that moment of strain and terror
the thoughts of the four elders of the little party flew instinctively
towards Jean. Danger and Jean! Death and Jean! The idea was
insupportable. Jean, who was in herself the embodiment of youth, of
health, of joy. The woman who had been to her as a second mother; the
girl who was her lifelong friend; the man who until now had been the
most favoured of her admirers, turned with a common impulse to succour
Jean, and Jean, white-faced, trembling, primitive woman, stripped in one
moment of conventions and pretence, indifferent, oblivious of them all,
leapt forward into Gloucester's arms.
They closed round her; she clung to him, hiding her head on his breast;
he pressed a hand on her hair, screening her eyes till the danger should
have passed. In another moment it was upon them. An agonised gasp of
fear passed from one to another. The danger was past!
The great brute went plunging down the lane, his head bent low, his
small eyes blinking, foam upon his lips; in his anxiety to escape his
pursuers, taking no heed of the figures flattened against the hedge.
With shouts and oaths, brandished sticks and panting breath, the farm
hands galloped in his rear. They passed out of sight, and the quiet
lane, sunk beneath its flowering hedges, regained its wonted peace.
Not so the human beings for whom that moment had been fraught with such
startling emotions. Jean's revulsion of feeling was as swift as the
impulse which had preceded. Hardly had the pursuit clattered by than
she had wrenched herself from Robert's grasp, and with crimson cheeks
and haughtily tilted head, taken shelter by Miggles's side. Vanna,
still trembling, leant back against the hedge, gazing from side to side.
Robert Gloucester turned and walked down the lane, following the line
of pursuit. She caught a glimpse of his face as he went--radiant,
aglow! At the other man she would not look. Sympathy for his
discomfiture and pain withheld her gaze. She knew exactly how Piers
Rendall would look at this moment: his eyes brilliantly hard, his lips
a-twitch. For her own sake she would not look. She hated to see that
twitch.
Miggles leant against the hedge, and burst into unrestrained tears.
Blessed Miggles, who could always be trusted to come to the rescue! Her
sobs, her tears, her simple oblivion to the subject which was engrossing
the minds of her companions were the saving of the situation.
"Oh, my dear Jean--a bull! A runaway bull! Never in all my life--and
to think that to-day, of all others. This narrow lane! Oh dear! Oh
dear! Your poor dear father! If you had worn your red dress! It might
so easily have happened! Thank God! thank God! Your arm, dear, your
arm. I do so tremble! My poor old heart feels as if it would burst.
What a Providence! What a Providence!"
"What a wicked, wretched man to leave the gate unlocked! I'll ask
father to have him discharged at once," cried Jean hotly. "It's wicked,
criminal carelessness. We might all have been killed."
From the bottom of the hedge crawled the scratched and blackened figures
of the two schoolboys.
"I say!" gasped Jack, breathless. "What a lark! What a blooming lark!"