Richard Linnell found a good deal of relief in his restless state of
mind in taking long country walks, telling himself that he got away from
his thoughts; but, on the contrary, he thought the more, and enjoyed his
misery as some young men do whose love affairs go crooked.
He was about nine miles away from Saltinville on the day of Mrs
Pontardent's party, and rapidly increasing the distance, when he
suddenly became aware of the sound of wheels behind in the road, and
looking round as he gave place to the driver, he found that Cora Dean
was checking her ponies.
"Confound her! she has followed me," he said to himself, as she drew up
by his side, quite alone, for the little seat generally occupied by the
boy-groom was turned over and closed.
"This is unexpected, Mr Linnell," she said, holding out her gloved
hand. "I thought you were at home."
"I felt sure you were," he said, smiling.
"Why?"
The question was accompanied by a half resentful, half tender look, the
first intended, the latter not.
"I expected that you would be busy with hair-dressers and dressmakers,
preparing for to-night's battle."
"To-night's battle?"
"Yes," he said, in a bantering, reckless way that was new to him, "the
battle with the beaux whom you are going to slay."
He felt as if he could have bitten his tongue off the next moment, as he
saw the look of pain she gave him.
"What have I done?" she said in a soft, low, half-passionate tone.
"Done! What do you mean?"
"Why do you take pleasure in laughing at me and mocking me?"
"Oh, nonsense!" he cried. "I was only speaking lightly."
"Why should you speak lightly to me?" she said. "We have lived in the
same house now for over a year, and, instead of being neighbours and
friends, there always seems to be a great gap between us."
"Why, what a sentimental view you take of things," he said. "We shake
hands when we meet. We smile at one another, and nod and chat."
"Yes," she said sadly, "we shake hands, we smile at each other, we nod
and chat, but--"
She stopped and seemed to try and command herself; and, to his great
relief, she spoke lightly as she said:
"I shall see you to-night, of course?"
"No; I thought you were going to a party."
"Yes, but you will be there?"
"No," he said gravely; "I am not going."
"Not going!" she cried. "Why, you were asked."
"How do you know?"
She turned crimson, and avoided his searching look.
"Did Mrs Pontardent tell you?"
"Yes, and you will go?"
"No," he said; "I declined. Why was I asked--do you know?"
She darted an appealing look at him; and the haughty, self-assertive
woman seemed to be completely changed.
"Don't--don't be angry with me," she said. "I--I thought it would be so
pleasant if you were going to be there."
"You never asked that woman to invite me, Miss Dean?"
She did not speak, but her face began to work, her hands dropped in her
lap, her head drooped upon her chest, and she wept bitterly.
"Oh, Miss Dean, for heaven's sake don't do that," he said. "I hate to
see a woman cry. I can't bear it. Pray forgive me if I spoke harshly.
I could not help feeling annoyed that you should have done this."
"You ought to be grateful," she cried passionately. "The woman you love
so dearly will be there with gay Major Rockley--oh, Mr Linnell--
Richard--for heaven's sake forgive me. What have I said--what have I
done?"
In her alarm at the start he gave, and at his ghastly face, she let fall
the reins and caught at his arm, when the ponies, feeling their heads
free, dashed off; but this brought Linnell back to the present, and with
one bound he reached the rein, hung on to it, and was dragged along for
a few yards, turning the ponies' heads towards a steep bank by the side
of the narrow unfrequented road. The result would have been that he
would have been crushed between the chaise and the bank, but for Cora's
presence of mind in seizing the other rein and dragging at it with all
her might.
As it was, he received a violent kick which turned him sick and faint,
and when he came to, the ponies' reins were secured to a tree in the
hedge, and he was lying upon the grass, with Cora's arm supporting his
head, and her frightened face bending over him.
"What is it?" he cried sharply. "Are you hurt?"
"No," she said softly. "Don't move. How brave you are!"
He looked at her wonderingly, and then flushing once more, he recalled
the whole scene, and what led to it.
"I was afraid you were hurt," he said, trying to rise; but the giddy
feeling came back, and he sank down again.
"You are hurt," she cried. "What shall I do? Richard--dear Richard!
He's dying. Oh, my love--my love!"
"Hush!" he cried huskily, as she was raising his head in her arms; "for
God's sake don't speak to me like that. There--there--you see I am
better. The pony kicked me. It made my head swim. There," he cried,
rising to his knees, "you see it is all right. I quite frightened you."
He stood up now and offered her his hand to rise; but she did not take
it, for she covered her face with her hands and crouched lower and lower
on her knees, sobbing wildly in a passion of grief, for his words had
been as cold and distant as if they had been strangers.
"Miss Dean--Miss Dean--pray let me help you to your carriage," he said;
but she shrank from him.
"Don't touch me!" she cried bitterly; "you made me love you--you made me
disgrace myself like this, and now I am to be your laughing-stock and
scorn." She looked up at him with her eyes full of rage, which died out
on the instant as she cried to him wildly, "I wish you had let me
drown!"
He stood looking at her for a few moments, and then glanced along the
winding lane; but they were quite alone. Then, taking her hand, he made
her rise, for she submitted to his will without a trace of resistance.
"I am very sorry," he said at last simply.
"Sorry!" she cried angrily. "Oh, why am I such a mad fool? Why did I
betray myself like this?"
"Hush!" he said softly, as he held her hand between both of his; "listen
to me. Do you think I have not seen for long enough that you are
beautiful, and that--"
"How dare you?" she cried fiercely. "It is not true."
"You must hear me," he said; "and forgive my awkwardness for speaking as
I do. You know my story so well: have I not always been steadfast to
that love?"
She sobbed violently and tried to snatch away her hand, but he held it
firmly.
"I have always tried to be to you as a friend. Heaven knows I would not
have wounded you like this."
"Yes," she sobbed bitterly, "Heaven knows."
"Why did you stab me with those cruel words?" he cried resentfully.
"I don't know," she wailed. "I was mad. It makes me mad to see you go
on worshipping her as you do. Does she make you love and hate her too,
as she does me?"
"Hush--hush!" he said quickly. "I want to like and respect you, Cora
Dean."
"Like! Respect!" she cried, with a flash of her former rage. "Why have
I degraded myself like this?"
"Do you not trust me?" he said gently, as he looked in her eyes. "Do
you think I should be such a despicable coward as ever to whisper word
of this to a soul? Come," he said, with a frank smile, "we have both
been unfortunate. Let us be friends."
"Friends?" she cried. "No; a woman never forgives a slight like this.
Do you think I could?"
"Yes," he said, after a few moments' pause. "You hate me, and are
bitter against me now; but when you have grown calm you will respect me,
I am sure. Cora," he cried, with an outburst as excited as her own,
"there is no such thing as love or truth on earth. I--Bah! What am I
saying?" he cried, checking himself. "Come, we are friends. Let me
help you to your place again."
He offered his hand once more, but she struck it aside, and went to the
ponies' heads while he tried to forestall her, but had to catch at the
side of the chaise to save himself a fall.
Her anger was gone on the instant as she saw his face contract with
pain, and in a moment she was by his side.
"It is my turn to triumph," she said in a deep, low tone. "Richard
Linnell, you must trust to the woman you despise I shall have to drive
you home."
He tried to master the pain, but he could not; and, with a deprecating
smile, he had to confess his weakness, and accept a seat back to
Saltinville, for it was impossible to walk.
It was a triumph, Cora Dean saw, as she sat up proud and stately beside
him; and she felt her heart glow as they reached the town, and scores of
promenaders noted him seated by her side; but it was not a pleasant
drive home, all the same.
Volume Two, Chapter XXII.