Almost before the waggonette had driven away from the door, Godfrey
turned, round to his brother.
"I shall catch the last train," he said.
"The last train! Now? How do you mean to get from Kirk Hinton?"
"I can walk."
"In this weather? You'll reduce Rawdie to a mass of pulp."
"He can stop with you. Good night," said Godfrey, ramming on his hat,
and marching off through the driving rain, while Guy shrugged his
shoulders, and detained Rawdie.
"Ha, ha! you poor little beggar, you're nowhere," he said. "You'll have
to put up with me."
Kirk Hinton was a little station on the branch line which connected
Rilston with the junction for Ingleby. It was four miles from Moorhead,
and six from Waynflete, and as it contained no sort of conveyance, it
was necessary for travellers to make arrangements beforehand if they
desired to be carried to their destination.
Godfrey had ordered a trap to meet him on the next morning; but now
there was nothing for it but to walk up hill and down dale through the
pouring rain, and chew the cud of his bitter thoughts as he went.
The field path to Waynflete was of the roughest, and led over rain
washed stony tracks, through copse-wood and thicket, down to the bottom
of Flete Dale, where the Flete beck was crossed by a rough wooden bridge
near which was the Dragon, the little old public-house which had been
there from time immemorial. On the other side of the river a steep
ascent led up to Flete Edge, beyond which lay the Hall. The road from
Kirk Hinton took a much more gradual route, and crossed the Flete by
another bridge at the end of the old avenue at the back of the house.
Godfrey was way-wise; but he had never taken the walk before, and he was
confused by the storm and the darkness, and by his own miserable
thoughts.
He had not given up his point. No; he was not defeated. He would
neither avoid Constancy nor cease to recommend himself to her. He would
meet her on every possible opportunity; he would not give way an inch.
He would succeed unless--other fellows--? There were other fellows, of
course. There was Guy.
Godfrey stumbled through a great clump of brambles and bushes, over a
low wall and down a rough field to the riverside, where he dimly saw the
bridge in the uncertain light. He felt chilled and miserable; his
resolute hope failed him. There was Guy. She always liked Guy, and he
always roused himself to talk and laugh with her. Godfrey's angry
spirit exaggerated these memories of friendly intercourse. His heart
sank lower and lower. He paused on the bridge, and listened to the
dreary roar of the wind through the wide plantations, and to the
swirling rush of the stream beneath him. He could not see anything
distinctly, but driving mist and swaying trees; but he came up out of
the gloomy hollow as much convinced of his brother's imaginary rivalry
as if the fiend, or the spirit, who had stood in the path of his unlucky
ancestor, and so wrecked the fortunes of succeeding generations, had
whispered the deluding suggestion into his ear.
How he reached the house he hardly knew, and then he wondered how he
could account to his aunt for his sudden return.
Mrs Waynflete, however, kept no count of his movements; she took no
notice till the first train the next morning brought over the Ingleby
stable-boy with Rawdie, Godfrey's bag, and a note from Guy, in which he
stated that he would not be able to come to Waynflete at present, as he
was going on "a little outing" with Staunton. Godfrey felt certain that
the little outing was to Moorhead, and when he read as a conclusion,
"Cheer up, old boy; there's worse luck in the world than yours," he felt
as if Guy was mocking his trouble.
Mrs Waynflete was angry at the message. She thought Guy neglectful and
indifferent to the place she loved so well. In those days, when the
novelty of her surroundings destroyed her sense of accustomed comfort,
she thought much. She was too good a woman of business to have left the
future unprovided for, and she had long ago made a will in which the
Waynflete property, together with certain investments, and half the
share in the profits of Palmer Brothers was left to Guy, while the other
half share made a fair younger son's portion for Godfrey.
But now, how could she trust Guy, either with the property or with the
business? Was he not too likely to ruin both? Could she rely on him to
carry on the work she had so bravely begun? She distrusted him deeply,
and he did nothing to remove her distrust. She had always kept her will
in her own hands; it would be easy to destroy it. But then, if anything
happened to her, everything would be in confusion. An idea occurred to
her, which in its simplicity and independence attracted her strongly.
She would have another will made, in which Godfrey's name was
substituted for that of Guy, and then she would keep both at hand. At
any moment it would be easy to destroy one of them, much easier than to
alter it, or to draw out a new one in a hurry, and she would put Guy to
certain tests, and judge him accordingly. She would drive into Rilston
and see the solicitor there this very afternoon, for it struck her that
she did not wish to explain the workings of her mind to the old family
man of business who had made the will now in force.
At luncheon-time she was unusually silent, while Jeanie questioned
Godfrey as to the events of the day before, and at last remarked, as she
cut up her peach, "How funny it is that Guy should be such friends with
Mr Staunton!"
"Why?" said Mrs Waynflete, abruptly. "Mr Staunton seems a very
well-conducted young man."
"Oh yes, aunt; but don't you know that he is descended from the wicked
old Maxwell who ruined the Waynfletes. Constancy Vyner told us all
about it. She said it was so interesting--to be friends with your
hereditary foe."
"What's that?" said the old lady. "I ought to have been told, Godfrey;
it's a very singular fancy on the part of your brother."
"Oh, I dare say Guy has very good reasons for the friendship," said
Godfrey, sulkily.
Mrs Waynflete made no reply. She released Jeanie from the duty of
accompanying her on her afternoon drive, and before she started, she
wrote a note to Guy.
She drove into Rilston, gave her directions to the solicitor, and
arranged to have the new will made out, and brought for her signature on
the next day. Then she went back, and, dismissing her carriage at the
bridge, prepared to inspect the needful repairs that were being made in
the farm-buildings and stables.
Godfrey, hanging listlessly about, saw her tall, upright figure, walking
steadily over the bridge, and then, whether she caught her foot in a
stone, or lost her balance, suddenly she tripped and fell.
With a shout of dismay he rushed towards her.
"Auntie! Auntie Waynflete! Are you hurt?"
"No, my dear, no; gently, don't be in such a hurry," she said
imperatively, having already got up on her hands and knees.
Godfrey put his strong young arms round her, and lifted her on to her
feet, holding her carefully, and entreating her to tell him if she was
hurt; while she told him sharply not to make a fuss about nothing, even
though, to her own great vexation, she was so tremulous as to be obliged
to lean on his arm, and let him lead her back to the house.
"No," she said. "No, I don't want to lie down, and I don't want a glass
of brandy and water, and I don't want the doctor. I want to sit down in
my chair, and see if my bones are in their right places."
Jeanie now appeared, fussing about, and very anxious to do the right
thing, but the old lady would not even have her bonnet taken off, and
hunted the two young people out of sight, asking them if they thought
she had had a stroke, just as they were whispering to each other that,
at any rate, it was nothing of that sort. They peeped at her from
behind the creepers through the open window, and discussed whether they
ought to send for the doctor. But, as Godfrey said, he didn't know if
there was a doctor to send for, such a person having rarely been seen
within the walls of the Mill House; and, besides, to act for Aunt
Waynflete was a new departure which neither dared undertake.
In the mean time, old Margaret, to her own great annoyance, found
herself shedding tears. She was more shaken than she had guessed. She
dried them rapidly, and then walked cautiously round the room, to see
whether she was really herself and unhurt.
"The Lord be praised, there's no harm done!" she said. "But I've had a
warning; and, please God, I'll take it, and prepare for my latter end.
I'm an old woman, and should mind my steps, and not be mooning over the
future or the past, when I should be picking my way. If my nephew Guy,
like others before him, is but poor stuff, Godfrey's a different sort.
I'll keep my eyes open."
She appeared to be none the worse for her accident in the anxious if
inexperienced eyes of Godfrey and Jeanie, who scarcely dared to ask her
how she felt.
The new will was brought to her, and was duly signed and witnessed. She
locked it away with the former one, and with other business papers, in a
table-drawer in her bedroom. She was prepared now for any emergency;
but, in her heart, she was far from satisfied, and, in the solitude of
the thoughts of age, she weighed the two young men against each other
with a sincere desire to judge them aright. All the settled
convictions, and all the saddest experiences of her life, told against
Guy. All her affection, all her inclination, swayed towards Godfrey.
And yet, angry as she was with her elder nephew, the tones of his voice,
the set of his mouth when he had spoken his mind to her, recurred to her
keen judgment, and she doubted still.
On the day after the signing of the new will, she received the following
answer to her note to Guy.
"Mill House, Ingleby,--
"September 16.
"Dear Aunt Margaret,--
"I shall not, of course, invite my friend to stay in your house again,
now that I am aware of your sentiments on the subject; but I will
avail myself of your permission to leave matters as they stand for the
present, as I should be unwilling to involve myself in so ludicrous an
explanation. Family feuds appear to me entirely out of date. I fear
I shall not be able to come over to Waynflete at present, as I cannot
leave Staunton, and you probably will not care to see him there.
"Your affectionate nephew,--
"Guy Waynflete."
This judicious and conciliatory epistle was put away by Mrs Waynflete,
with the two wills in her table-drawer.
It appeared to her that Guy, with a frivolity not new in her experience,
scorned the sentiments and the convictions which had ruled her life.