Miss West took the letter to the post-office herself after dinner, as
she was going to inquire for a pupil who lived near Carter Hill, and who
was sick--unhappy child!--from holiday junketing. Miss West could not
recover her equanimity till that letter was out of the house. It had
shaken her, satirical and discreet though she was. It had also given her
a guilty sensation towards Miss Sandys. She could not endure that even
the servants should read the address:--"W. Nairne, Esq., Waterloo Lodge,
Bridgeton, Strokeshire," though W. Nairne, Esq., might have stood for
her brother-in-law, her uncle by marriage, or her maternal grandfather
for aught they could tell. She held her hand over the superscription as
if to hide it from herself as she walked along under the newly-risen
moon, as it cast its light on a crisp sprinkling of snow. It was true
Christmas weather at last, and this was something like a Christmas
adventure for her. But not the less did she wish the Christmas ended,
and the moon replaced by gas jets of the smallest size. "A pretty story
for the girls if they should get hold of it," she thought, and
shuddered. She did not recover altogether till she had posted her
packet, and walked half a mile further on. At length she passed through
a creaking gate and a shrubbery, and was shown up to a smart
drawing-room. She was there to ask for the health of Miss Victoria
Middlemass, the daughter of a gentleman who led a country gentleman's
life on the proceeds of a sleeping partnership in a mercantile house in
a large town at some distance.
Mrs. Middlemass came in hurriedly. She had only time to wish Miss West a
merry Christmas and a good New Year, and to announce that Vicky was
quite herself again, except that the bun fever had left her rather pale,
and she had not got back all her appetite. She could not, however, make
the same complaint of Mr. Middlemass, who had just come in ravenously
hungry from the train. He had been accompanied by another gentleman, who
had been introduced to him before he left the north, and whom Mr.
Middlemass would not allow to go over to the inn at Stoneham, where he
was to spend a few days with a friend. Mr. Middlemass and his new
acquaintance were still at dinner.
Miss West was hurrying away after having discharged her commission, in
order not to detain Mrs. Middlemass from her husband and his guest, and
not to impose on master or servant the trouble of seeing her home.
But as they were exchanging smothered good-byes near the open
dining-room door, Mr. Middlemass, who was frank and hospitable, broke
through the clatter of knives and forks, and called out unceremoniously,
"My dear, who is that you are taking leave of?"
"It is only Miss West, my dear," his wife replied softly to quiet him.
"Miss West!" and he banged from his seat and bounced to the door. "Miss
West! the very woman in the nick of time. Stay, Miss West, and thank
your stars; here's an old friend come a long way to see you."
Miss West turned, and there, behind the cordial face of the master of
the house, who suspected nothing, and was only happy to be helpful to a
brother merchant, were the perfectly recognizable lineaments of that old
personable fellow, Bill Nairne.
Miss West for a second fancied that the letter she had posted to him ten
minutes before had sped like a telegram to its destination, and that he
had sped back on the telegraphic wires to remonstrate with her and
expose her. The next instant she was sensible that the accident of his
being there in person must be a result of a previous change of mind on
his part.
Bill Nairne had stared, and stammered in mechanical accents, after Mr.
Middlemass supplied him with the keynote, "Miss West, the very person,
let us thank our stars!" But he soon recovered himself, and then shook
her hand warmly, and declared, in his old, off-hand manner, "I shall see
you home, Miss West;" for Miss West had no sooner recovered her breath
and her small share of colour, than she combated Mr. Middlemass's
pressing invitation to remain and spend the evening with them. No; Miss
Sandys was expecting her; she thanked him and Mrs. Middlemass, but she
could not stay on any account, so that there would be no use in sending
over a message or a note to Carter Hill. Neither was it on Miss West's
cards that Bill Nairne should escort her to Carter Hill, or, indeed,
that she should have any escort at all. "Do not think of such a thing; I
could not allow it." Mrs. Middlemass came to Miss West's aid, and
alleged in her ignorance, "There is no occasion for it, Mr. Nairne; it
is only a step to Carter Hill, and Miss West is accustomed to walk
across after dinner, when Miss Sandys has a message for us. Remember, we
are very quiet people here compared to what you are in the north.
Besides, if Miss West is timid, I can manage to send a servant, or," she
went on with greater hesitation, "Mr. Middlemass will be delighted to
go, he knows the way; but you must not put yourself about on any
consideration."
Miss West rather indignantly denied being timid, timidity being out of
her _rôle_, and then she judged prematurely that the matter was settled.
She had got so accustomed to order about girls that she had fallen into
the bad habit of expecting that her will should be law to all the world,
with the exception of Miss Sandys. As for Mr. and Mrs. Middlemass, they
at least knew that she could take care of herself.
It was another shock to Miss West, another tumultuous, inopportune
return to the experience of half a score years back, to find that she
could no more dictate to Bill Nairne on this small matter than she could
have done it as Mad of the old days.
"Say no more about it, Miss West. I'll go home with you, of course."
Bill thus put her down with an intrepidity, if anything, increased with
his increased weight physically and commercially.
This completely confounded Miss West, and made a greater muddle of her
former and her present identities than had yet been effected.
"I'll see Miss West home, and we'll have a talk together of our old
friendship as we walk along," Bill maintained with the confident
coolness of power, towards the self-contained, self-sustained teacher.
It was something unprecedented for Miss West to be walking to Carter
Hill on a man's arm, an old friend's arm. She felt an odd sensation
stealing over her as if she were no longer able to take care of herself,
as if she were no longer herself, her late self, at all; and the moon
helped the illusion.
Silence descended on Miss West and Bill Nairne, after the first forced
commonplaces. He glanced furtively at her, and lost his confidence and
coolness, and hung his head--the respectable prosperous merchant!--but
not at what _he_ saw. What did she see? Nothing but that the sword had
worn the scabbard. Mad had been true to herself. Mad could not have been
otherwise than true, as he had written. But the consciousness of what
Mad would see when she lifted up her eyes and looked him in the face
made him droop his head. He had got a glimpse of it that morning, when,
as the thought of Mad grew more and more vivid in his mind, he saw
something reflected in the glass which did not necessarily belong to
bodily maturity. The conviction returned to him with fresh, poignant
regret, in the peaceful hush and subdued splendour of the winter night.
There were lines in his face which Mad should never have seen there,
without which he would have been nearer heaven. There were hard,
unbelieving lines, supercilious lines, self-indulgent lines, lines of
the earth, earthy, corresponding to hard and gross lines in the spirit
within. The respectable, prosperous merchant, had fallen from his
original level. He had not attained to the chivalrous, Christian manhood
which he had the prospect of when he was Mad's promising lover. He had
lowered his standard, forsaken his principles, lost his faith a few
times since then. The gulf between Mad and him was wider now. He felt
this walking on the moonlight December night by Mad's side again.
It was in a somewhat different tone from that of his letter that Bill
Nairne said at last, "Mad, will you have the worst of me? Will you do
something for me and mine after all? I might have been another man if I
had got you long ago, Mad."
"Would you have been a better and a happier man, Bill? Could I do
anything for you yet? Answer me truly," she said, hurriedly heaping the
self-forgetful, quivering sentences one upon another.
"Anything!" exclaimed big Bill Nairne with intense conviction and
hyperbole, more excusable than his old prudence and fickleness,
"Anything! Mad, you could do everything with me, and with little Bill
and Bob. We should no longer be egotistical and frivolous, with you to
keep us right, you good, single-hearted Mad."
* * * * *
Miss Sandys was entitled to say, "You have come out this Christmas, Miss
West. I shan't allow my assistant to be taken off her satirical staid
feet another Christmas. I'll lock the next one up for the holidays. It
is all those holidays; you would never have thought of such foolish
things had you been busy teaching. I'll lock the next one up, or I'll
send her to her friends, who will live, I trust, in some peaceful
valley, where there are no old acquaintances, or for that matter, men of
any kind. I shall, indeed, Miss West, for I hate changes." Miss Sandys
had not to dread changes much longer. A sister of Miss West came and
supplied her place, and lived so long with Miss Sandys that she closed
her superior's eyes like a dutiful daughter, and succeeded to the
goodwill of Carter Hill School.
* * * * *