"THE ONE MAID FOR ME."
When old Margaret Waynflete drove up to the door of Waynflete Hall in
the Rilston fly--for the old stables were not calculated for the
accommodation of valuable horses--she never thought of herself in a
picturesque light, nor felt, as Godfrey and even Jeanie in a measure
did, for her, that this was the moment for which she had lived.
But she looked round her with the most lively curiosity. When she sat
down in the low, crowded, old-fashioned drawing-room, she did not admire
it, nor feel comfortable as she drank her cup of tea and looked about
her. She scolded Godfrey and Jeanie for expressing anxiety as to the
effect upon her of the unwonted journey; for she felt quite strong and
vigorous, even while she repeated to herself that it was right for her
to see Waynflete before she died. And see it she did, for she inspected
the old house from attic to cellar. She went over the gardens and
outbuildings, she had herself driven up and down the steep sides of the
Flete Valley and through the shabby village, she attended service in the
picturesque old church, where a newly arrived young vicar, himself
aghast at the condition of his church and parish, only struck her as an
unpleasing contrast to the old rector of Ingleby. She liked none of it
very much. She _was_ an old woman, and she could not take to new
surroundings. Ingleby was home. Waynflete was for the next generation.
All the neighbourhood called upon her, and paid attention to her and
her nephew.
Godfrey was well aware that his position, as apparent master of the
house, was an awkward one. He would also have preferred Jeanie's
absence; the new neighbourhood would draw conclusions, which his
downright old aunt would never have anticipated. He meant, when the
visit of the Moorhead party was safely over, to write to Guy and to
offer to change places with him; but, when he found him at Moorhead
before him, inviting Constancy to Ingleby, and proposing to come to
Waynflete to meet her, all other thoughts were swallowed up in angry
jealousy. All places were the same to him where she was not, and he
could only think of keeping his chance of seeing her some time without
Guy's interference. Guy appeared early on the appointed Tuesday. He
could only, he said, stay one night, as Staunton was coming to him on
the next day.
"As you kindly allowed me to ask him, Aunt Margaret," he said,
punctiliously.
"I've no objection to Mr Staunton, you can bring him over," said Mrs
Waynflete. But whatever her own feelings as to the new home were, she
watched keenly for Guy's impressions of it.
He said no word to gratify her; but in that perfect summer day, he, in
his turn, noted every detail.
The old house, with the deep and varied tinting of its lichen-covered
tiles and bushy creepers, seemed to him, as he stood in the garden, and
looked at it intently, to be full of character and individuality.
In his secret heart, he thought, as he had thought before, that the
place had a charm altogether its own. How he should like its quaintness
and its beauty if it ever was his own, and if--Nay, how he did like it
now, and how oddly he felt himself to be a son of its soil--to be,
somehow, akin to it. Guy was in all ways sensitive and impressionable,
open to the influences that surrounded him, to every change of scene and
atmosphere. He wandered round the flower-beds, and looked for the
quaint "old" flowers of which Florella had spoken. Could he find any to
show her? Yes; there were columbines of odd, dull, artistic tints,
roses of sorts unheeded by the horticulturist, and sundry blossoms,
somewhat belated in the keen northern air, of which the ignorant Guy
knew nothing.
As he looked, Rawdon Crawley began to bark; the sound of wheels was
heard, and a waggonette, full of straw hats and bright dresses, drove up
the rough ill-kept road that led to the house. Guy, half-smiling, held
a little back, as he saw his brother press forward eagerly; he was
amused at the idea of Godfrey in love, not having ceased to regard him
as a schoolboy. He was not in love himself; but even for him, as he
came forward, it was Constancy who held the stage, looking handsome and
happy, a concentration of life.
"I am perfectly convinced," she said, looking round, after the greetings
were over, "that this place breathes out a story. It quite _talks_ with
characteristicness!"
"I should like to think that you had to do with the story of it," said
Godfrey, feeling his ears hot with the sense of self-committal.
Constancy looked at him, and at that moment there entered into her a
particularly charming and engaging little demon, who recommended himself
to her in a form which disguised his old and well-known features, and
made him come out quite new. Godfrey was betraying himself in every
word and look; but to Constancy, whose even pulses had never yet beat
quicker for any emotion whatever, his boyish passion did not present
itself in a serious light. She might study this side of life a little,
it would be amusing and instructive. It has been amusing, ever since
Cleopatra angled for fishes.
The result of her study was that Godfrey spent a day of chequered but
tumultuous bliss, and that the story of the old house mingled itself
inextricably with her own.
For Guy the hours passed so pleasantly that he forgot his dread of the
coming night. Not being in any way conscious, he asked Florella to come
and look for subjects among the flowers, quite easily. And she came,
remembering them much better than he did, looking for old favourites,
and showing him which she had formerly tried to paint.
"I cannot do the harebells," she said. "I have drawn them; but the
colour and the light is altogether impossible, and I have had to come
down to a little bunch in the rock--quite earthly--but they just recall
the others. Perhaps some day, when I have practised a great deal, I may
be able to paint the heavenly ones."
"You made me _see_ them," said Guy.
"That's something, isn't it?" she said. "But that's why drawing is so
good. It teaches one to see."
There was plenty of general chatter, and the whole party strolled about,
ate fruit, and picked flowers together.
A tall fair young man was rather feebly sweeping the garden path. He
touched his cap as the party passed him, and said, in a cracked, but
cordial voice, "There's rasps down yonder, sir, for t'yoong leddies."
Guy recognised him, with a start of distaste, as the "soft" lad he had
seen in the churchyard.
"Thank you, Jem," said Godfrey, "we'll look for them. This way, isn't
it, Jeanie?"
Jeanie was very shy, and very much afraid of these "clever girls;" she
secretly disliked the thought of them. But it was pleasing to find how
open they were to raspberries and Morelia cherries, and, in the
afternoon she felt a pride in showing them over the house, and pointing
out the pictures and other curiosities.
Guy avoided this part of the entertainment, on the excuse of making
arrangements about the time of return, and as he came back from
interviewing the driver of the waggonette, he found that Florella was in
the garden, sketching a bit of snap-dragon on the top of the low wall
that divided it from the fruit-garden. Guy made for her pretty blue
dress, which reminded him of her blue harebells.
"Do you like the flowers better than the house?" he said.
"I did not much want to go over the house," she answered; "and if you
please, Mr Waynflete, I think I should like to tell you why."
"Why, have you any reason?" said Guy, startled.
"Yes," she answered. "Of course it is a very silly thing, and my sister
never thought of it but as the merest joke; but I have always felt it
was more wrong than we knew. When we were here, we used to hide and
make odd noises, to see whether we could make people think it was the
ghost."
"What?" exclaimed Guy. "What did you do?"
"Why--nothing very much," said Florella, "after all. But we rustled
about when we thought the maids would hear us, and stamped along the
passages to make footsteps, and hid when any one was coming, and
Constancy pretended to sob and cry, and then we watched to see how
people would take it; we never dressed up, you know, it was only noises.
Of course there was a notion that there _were_ noises, or no one would
have noticed."
"And didn't--did no one find you out?"
"No. I don't think that really we frightened any one very much. Of
course, I always knew it was naughty, and that Aunt Connie would be
angry if she knew. But, as we went on doing it, I got to have a feeling
of what it would have been like if it had been true; perhaps I
frightened myself, for we didn't make all the noises that we heard. And
I don't know, Cosy did it quite simply; but I got to feel as if there
was something _profane_ in playing tricks with things one could not
understand, and it has always been on my conscience. So, as you were
here when we did it, and as you belong to the place, I thought I would
confess, for really I have always felt it more wrong than many things
I've been punished for."
"Why do you think that?" said Guy, quickly.
"Why, I suppose taking false and silly views of great subjects is one of
the chief things that prevent people from being really good. Then you
_can't_ see."
"If you don't mind," said Guy, "will you come with me and look at that
picture?"
He could hardly tell what prompted the request; but he felt that he
could better bear the sight of the picture with her than alone.
Florella agreed, though a little surprised, and they followed the rest
of the party into the house and upstairs. They heard their voices as
they made the round, but the little octagon room was empty.
"Look at him," said Guy, "and tell me _just_ what you see in his face.
Yes," as she glanced at him, "I know he is like me. But if you were
drawing that face--like a flower--what should you try to show?"
"He looks very unhappy," said Florella. "He wanted some one to help
him."
"He had no one. He was a victim to himself or his fate. Don't you
think he looks rather a despicable fellow?"
"No; but he looks as if he did so need to be helped. Yes; he does look
like a person who might fail in a desperate crisis."
"As he did," said Guy. "A man with that face must, you know. Isn't
that what you see?"
"I suppose," said Florella, suddenly and simply, "that if he had really
realised the presence of God, he could have borne--even the ghost."
"Why?" said Guy, abruptly.
"It would be a spiritual power, great enough to conquer the spiritual
fear," she answered.
"I wish I could have masses said for his soul," said Guy. "If we were
Roman Catholics, I'd ask you to pray for him."
"Well, I will," she answered. "He is living, somewhere, and I am sure
it is right to pray for him."
"Thank you," said Guy, earnestly.
There was a call, and they hurried away to join the others. They had
forgotten both themselves and each other. It was only afterwards that
Florella realised that she had said unusual things, or Guy that he had
heard them. But strange to each other they never could be again.
Constancy and Godfrey had thought of each other, and of the effect they
were producing on each other, all day long. Nevertheless, they parted
as "Strangers yet."