_SOMETHING ABOUT WINIFRED_
Meanwhile Winifred was in sore trouble at The Downs, for Sir Lester was
very ill, and the doctors took a grave view of his case. He caught a
chill at Gatwick, and the cold which followed, being neglected, as such
ailments often are, congestion of the lungs followed, and he was now
fighting for his life.
At times he was unconscious, and Winifred, almost worn out with
watching, sometimes thought he had gone, so still and quiet he lay.
The crisis came at last, and he pulled through, but she felt she would
never forget that time of anxiety, almost of despair.
Sir Lester knew what she had done for him, all she had gone through, and
her drawn white face showed how she had suffered.
"If it had not been for your daughter, I believe we should have lost
you, Sir Lester," said his favourite doctor. "She worked day and night,
and orders given were attended to with even more promptitude than in a
hospital. She is a wonderful girl, and you are right in being proud of
her."
During his days of convalescence Sir Lester found in Winifred a constant
companion who never failed to interest and amuse him.
He thought she deserved every happiness this life could give, and
knowing what was dearest to her heart, he longed for Jack Redland to
come home. He cared not now whether he returned rich or poor; in any
case he would offer no opposition, and as Winifred was his only child,
there would be sufficient for them when he was gone, and he could look
after them during his lifetime.
He had great faith in Jack, and something told him he was prospering,
and that when he came home it would not be with empty hands. Winifred
guessed his thoughts, and was happy. The colour returned to her cheeks,
and she was soon her light-hearted merry self again, although his
illness had made a deep impression upon her that would never be effaced.
It is in times of sickness and sore distress that the best feelings in
our natures are roused. There is the need to act, the necessity for
self-denial, duties to be done that cannot be evaded, annoyances that
will not be thrust aside. There must be no putting off for to-morrow
what can be done to-day, for delay means death maybe, and that ends all
in this life.
Sir Lester's illness put the finishing touch to Winifred's womanhood; it
brought her to maturity; it roused in her the feelings of maternity,
which reliance upon herself always brings to a woman. Her father had
been as helpless as a child, and she had nursed him, attended to his
every want, anticipated his unspoken wishes, ministered to his pain, and
did all that a brave woman knows so well how to do in battling with
death, in peace or in war.
She felt the change in herself, but did not quite understand it.
Something had been given to her that she lacked before, and it was very
wonderful, strangely beautiful and satisfying. She was as gay and
light-hearted as ever, but there was more depth in her, a firmness she
had hitherto lacked possessed her, and she felt better able to grapple
with the world.
Sir Lester was amused. He noticed all these traits and knew the little
girl he so fondly loved had developed into a very beautiful woman. He
had watched her grow year by year, and hungrily begrudged the advancing
age which must make her less reliant upon him. Man-like, he wanted her
to be solely dependent upon him, and yet now the time was come, when she
was a woman, he loved her better than ever. What a prize she would prove
to Jack Redland; he thought of no other man in connection with her: the
mere idea seemed desecration. Had he been glad when Jack went away? He
doubted it. Relief was the feeling he experienced. And he would again
feel it on his return.
Roaming about the country lanes one day, Winifred chanced to linger on
the spot where she had last seen Jack turn and wave his farewell. Was it
a chance she came there? She tried to convince herself such was the
case, but it proved a failure, for she knew she had deliberately walked
in that direction.
Was it by chance that the self-same gypsy woman came along at the time
and saw her? Probably it was, for she seldom wandered that way. The
woman hesitated, and then approached. She knew it was Winifred Dyke, and
was aware that Sir Lester disliked liked her and all her tribe. She had
not forgotten the handsome young man she had met not far away some year
or two before, and something told her there was a connecting link
between them. They are wonderfully shrewd, the women of her class, and
have a marvellous way of putting things together and weaving elegant and
generally acceptable little romances therefrom.
Winifred started when she saw her, and at once it flashed across her
mind that this might be the same woman Jack had told her about. The
thought interested her strangely. If this were the woman then she had
much to do with Jack's going away, ridiculous though it appeared.
"May I look at your hand?" said the gypsy, as though it was the most
natural request in the world.