"Think of the past, Lucy, as of happy days spent with one who loved you,
and who is now dead. Better that we should never meet again. Better,
perhaps, if I had never lived. God bless _you_, dear. Good-bye."
Poor Lucy was too ill to appear at dinner that day, and for several more
she did not stir out. Then Mrs Alleyne insisted upon her going for a
walk, and, as if drawn by fate, she went straight toward the fir mount
to climb to the top, where she could sit down and gaze at Brackley, and
try to make out Glynne, who might be walking in the garden.
No: she saw no tall white figure there, and she felt that unless she
borrowed some "optick tube" from her brother's observatory, she was not
likely to see her friend a mile away, and she stood there low-spirited
and tearful.
"If I could only see her, and say,--`Glynne, sister, what is all that
terrible trouble to us? You are still the only friend I ever loved,'
and clasp her in my arms, and let her tears mingle with mine. Oh,
please God," she said, softly, speaking like a little child, as she sank
upon her knees amongst the thickly-shed pine needles, and clasped her
hands, "let there be no more sorrow for my poor, dear friend; make her
happy once again."
That fir-clad hill became Lucy's favourite resort by day, as it had been
her brother's in the past, by night; and she went again and again, till
one afternoon, following out an old habit, she was stooping to pick a
plant from where it grew, when she became aware of someone approaching,
and she started and coloured, and then recovered herself, and rose erect
and slightly resentful, for Major Day, looking very sad and old stood
before her, raising his hat.
"May I see what you have there?" he said gravely.
"I think it is an _Amanita_," said Lucy, trying hard to speak firmly, as
she held out the whitish-looking fungus toward the old botanist, as if
it had been a tiny Japanese parasol.
Major Day fixed his _pince-nez_ on the organ it was made to pinch, and,
taking the curious vegetable, carefully examined it, turning it over and
over before saying decisively,--
"Yes, exactly; _Amanita Vernus_, a very poisonous species, Miss Alleyne.
I--er--I am very glad to see that you keep up your knowledge of this
interesting branch of botany. I have been paying a good deal of
attention to it in Italy this past autumn and winter."
"Indeed," said Lucy.
"Yes, my dear--Miss Alleyne," said the major, correcting himself. "The
Italians are great eaters of fungi. My brother found Rome and Florence
very dull. Of course he was longing to be back amongst his farming
stock. Great student of the improvement of cattle, Miss Alleyne. I
found the country about Rome and Florence most interesting. It would
have been far more so if I had had a sympathetic companion."
"I must--I will tell him everything," thought Lucy; and then the colour
came, and she felt that it would be impossible, and that her only course
was to allow time to smooth away this little burr.
"Are you finding truffles?" she said, with assumed cheerfulness.
He looked at her in a curiously wistful manner for a few moments, and
that look was agony to Lucy, as her conscience told her that she had had
a fall from the high niche to which she had risen in the major's
estimation.
"Yes," he said, slowly, and there was an unwonted coldness and gravity
in his manner; "at my old pursuit, Miss Alleyne--at my old pursuit. So
you have not quite given it up?"
"Oh no," cried Lucy, trying to pass over the coldness, which chilled her
warm young heart. "I have been collecting several times lately, and--"
Lucy stopped short, for the major was looking at her keenly, as if
recalling the fact that when she had been mushrooming she had
encountered Rolph sauntering about with a cigar in his mouth.
"Yes," said the major, quietly; "and were you very successful?"
It was a very simple question, just such a one as anyone might ask to
help a hesitating speaker who had come to a standstill; but to Lucy it
seemed so different from what she had been accustomed to hear from the
major's lips. His manner had always been tenderly paternal towards her;
there had been such openness and full confidence between them, and such
a warm pressure of hand to hand. Now this was gone, and there was a
cold and dreary gap.
"Successful?" said Lucy, with her voice trembling and her face beginning
to work. "Yes--no--I--Have you many truffles, Major Day?"
This last with an effort to master her emotion, and its effect, as she
spoke sharply and quickly, was to give her time to recover herself, and
the major a respite from what had threatened to be a painful scene.
"Yes, yes; a fair number," he said, as if he were addressing one who was
a comparative stranger, but towards whom he wished to behave with the
greatest deference. "They are very small, though--very small; not like
those they dig in France. May I send you a few, my--Miss Alleyne?"
Lucy shook her head, for her emotion mastered her this time. That
alteration from what was to have been "my dear" to "Miss Alleyne" was
too much for her, and she bowed hastily and hurried away.
But the major hastened after her, and overtook her in the lane.
"Miss Alleyne--Lucy," he cried. "One moment, please."
"Major Day!" she cried, in surprise.
"And your very good old friend, my dear. Since I saw you last I have
been thinking a great deal, and many things which troubled me before we
left home have gradually assumed an entirely fresh aspect. I was hasty,
and, to be frank, I used to think ill of you, and my conscience is so
full of reproach that I--if you'll excuse me--I--I must beg your
pardon."
"Beg my pardon, Major Day?" said Lucy, and she turned red and white by
turns as she began to tremble.
"Yes, my dear, and ask you to forgive me."
"Forgive you, Major Day?"
"Yes, my dear, I fear I was too ready to believe you were weak and
foolish, and did not give you credit for being what you are, and--there,
there, my dear, I surrender at discretion, I leave it to your generosity
to let me march off with colours flying."
"Dear Major Day! I didn't deserve that you should think so ill of me,"
sobbed Lucy passionately, and laying her hands in the old man's she made
no resistance as he drew her towards him, and kissed her forehead, just
when, according to his unlucky custom, Oldroyd came into sight.
At the moment when the major bent down and pressed his lips on little
Lucy's white forehead, the pony's head was directed straight towards
them; the next instant he had sprung round like a weather-cock, and his
head was directed towards home, but only for a few moments, before it
was dragged round again, and the doctor come slowly ambling towards
them, looking indignant and fierce.
"Then we are to be the best of friends again, eh, my dear, and I am
quite forgiven?"
"Oh, yes, dear Major Day," said Lucy; "but please don't think so ill of
me again."
"I'm a dreadful old scoundrel ever to have thought ill of you at all,"
cried the major. "There, we must forget all the past. Ah, doctor, how
are you? When are you coming up to the hall? My brother will be glad
to see you, I'm sure."
"I hope Sir John is not unwell?" said Oldroyd, trying to wither Lucy
with a look, and bringing back upon himself such an indignant flash that
he metaphorically curled up, as he muttered something to himself about
the daring impudence some women could display.
"Unwell? dear me, no," said the major. "A little pulled down by too
much inaction abroad; nothing hurts him though much. I mean come as a
visitor. How is the health of the neighbourhood, eh?"
"Excellent, Major Day, that is, excepting Mr Alleyne's."
"What! Mr Alleyne ill? Bless my soul! you did not say anything about
it, my dear."
"My dear! my dear!" muttered Oldroyd between his teeth; "always my dear.
Surely the old idiot is not going to marry the wicked little flirt."
"I had not had time, Major Day," said Lucy eagerly, "but I don't think
dear Moray is any worse than usual."
"Worse than usual? Then he has been unwell?"
"He is ill," replied Lucy, "but it has been coming on so slowly that I
am afraid we do not notice it so much as we should."
"But is he confined to his bed?"
"Oh, no!" cried Lucy. "He is going on with his studies just as usual."
"I'll come over and see him. I meant to come, but I--er--I hesitated,
my dear. Do you think he would be pleased if I called?"
"I'm sure he would, Major Day," cried Lucy. "Pray come soon."
"Indeed, I will, perhaps to-morrow. Are you going my way?"
"No, major, I am going back to The Firs. I do not like to be away when
Mr Oldroyd is going to see my brother."