'Hush! No one but you must know that I am going.'
She was on the carpet clinging to my feet. 'Take me with you; do, pray,
take me, Miss Haddon, dear; no one will ever love you better, and I
can't stay without you!'
I made her get up; and taking her two hands in mine, murmured in a
broken voice: 'Try to trust me, Becky. If I could take you with me, it
would be very selfish of me to do so. It is your duty to stay here,
as it is my duty to go. But I shall not be so far away as I wish them
to believe I am--recollect, as I _wish_ them to believe; and I may be
able to see you frequently, if I find that I can trust you to keep my
secret.'
'You may trust me, Miss.'
'I am sure I can, or I would not ask you to help me. I must not break
down this last day, Becky; for the sake of others as well as myself, I
_must_ not.'
She dried her eyes; and presently the expression I wanted came into her
face.
'Please forgive me; I won't shew it any more; and I will do anything
you tell me.'
'First, and above all, you must earnestly do what you can to assist me
to make it appear that I am feeling neither sorrow nor anger to-day,
Becky.'
'I will,' she replied, simply and honestly.
'And next, I want you to contrive to carry that small portmanteau into
the wood for me at dusk this evening, when some one will meet you, and
bring it to me. You must contrive it so that no one will know that you
have helped me. The best time for you to take it will be whilst the
ladies are at tea. If you take in tea at the usual time, precisely at
seven, you would have a spare half hour, which would be time enough.
Slip out the back way, and carry it anyway. I cannot take it myself, as
there must be no good-bye.'
'Very well, Miss. This one?'
'Yes. It is not too heavy for you, I hope?'
'O no, Miss; it is not that;' lugubriously.
'Now, Becky, please do not forget. _That_ is not looking cheerful, you
know.'
'No, Miss Haddon, dear; I won't forget, when I'm down-stairs.'
Fortunately, she helped me to get up a smile, to begin with, at the
breakfast-table. How shall I describe the expression of Becky's face
when she came in with the coffee, &c. Her mouth was distended with a
grin, which was in strange contrast with the sadness in her eyes, and
her whole face reminding one, as Lilian said, of an india-rubber one
pulled out of shape!
Whenever she entered the room there was the same grin on her face. In
fact, in her anxiety to be loyal to me, she was overacting her part,
and it culminated, when, after looking at her in some astonishment,
Lilian inquired if she had received any good news.
'Yes--no. It's only because I'm so happy to-day, Miss,' returned Becky,
with a still more alarming distension of her mouth.
I think Mrs Tipper had occasion afterwards to congratulate herself upon
Becky's 'happy days' not coming very frequently.
'She has broken two plates and a cup already, my dears,' anxiously said
the little lady to Lilian and me. 'And I can't find in my heart to be
angry with her about it, when she says it's through being so happy;
but really, you know, it is a most unfortunate way of shewing her
happiness.'
Lilian and I made a merry little jest at it, advising her to look
sharply after such household treasures as Windsor Castle, &c.
'I wouldn't let her dust them to-day for the world, my dears!'
ejaculated the little lady, hastily trotting off to the kitchen again.
I did not allow Lilian to make her escape afterwards. I smilingly
decided that there was to be no French history to-day, and that she
and I were to spend the morning together in the old delightful fashion
of the past. Philip was not coming for a day or two; and we would go
over some of the old work, which had been somewhat neglected of late,
with the exception of music and singing. A little steady work, and the
consultations over it, was bracing for us both, and set us at our ease
as personal talk would certainly not have done. We were not, either of
us, strong enough just then to talk about ourselves. Moreover, I begged
Mrs Tipper to make it a fête-day, and treat us to one of her famous
lemon puddings; and she was enjoying herself to her heart's content in
the kitchen, only too delighted to be asked to treat us, and bent upon
shewing that a lemon pudding was not enough to constitute a feast in
her estimation. The only disturbing influence was poor Becky's hilarity.
'My dears, it really is not natural,' the little lady confided to us at
dinner. 'No more like smiling than a baby in convulsions. I was almost
frightened at the strange faces she made just now in the kitchen; and
if it goes on, I must make her take some medicine.'
I begged Becky off that infliction, persuading her anxious mistress to
wait a few hours.
Kind Becky! she would very soon be able to look as she felt. There
would be nothing unnatural in her regret at my departure, after having
known me so long a time. On the whole, I was more successful than I had
dared to hope for in the way of leaving a pleasant impression upon the
minds of Mrs Tipper and Lilian--just the impression I wished to give
them.
They believed that I was happier than I had been for some time
previously, and I know now that they attributed my happiness to the
fact of the date being at length fixed for my wedding to take place.
They had seen just enough to perceive that some disturbing influence
was at work with me; and the sudden change in my bearing seemed to
them to imply that my doubts and fears were now set at rest. It did
me real good to witness the unfeigned relief in Lilian's face; the
unselfishness which could rejoice in my happiness though her own
might be wrecked. I know now how much she had suffered from shame and
dread--how terribly afraid she had been lest I should divine any part
of the truth; lamenting over what she considered to be her disloyalty
to me, and blaming herself as she certainly did not deserve to be
blamed.
'Dear Mary, it seems quite like old times again; does it not?' she
said, looking up into my face with the nearest approach to happiness in
her own which I had seen there for some time, as I bent over her with a
playful criticism upon a bit of foliage she was doing.
'It has been a pleasant day, has it not, dearie?' I returned. 'All the
pleasanter for French history being kept out of the programme, I think.
You know I never did take kindly to that.'
She flushed up, nestling closer to my side. 'There shall be no more of
it, Mary,' she whispered.
I replied with a tender kiss; then lightly said: 'I really feel quite
kissably inclined this afternoon!' turning to my dear old friend, and
giving her two or three hearty good-bye kisses, then back again to
Lilian with a last hug.
'And now, I must run off again;' adding as I reached the door: 'Do not
wait tea for me. I shall not be able to get back by then.'
'To town! Mary?' asked Lilian. 'And I am not to be permitted to
accompany you again. I feel sure there must be something very
mysterious going on!'
But she was smiling, and I believe that both she and her aunt were now
quite at ease about it, having made up their minds that their first
surmise--that I was preparing some pretty surprise for them--was a
correct one.
I ran up to my room, hastily indicated to Becky where she was to find
the two letters in a couple of hours' time, put on my bonnet and cloak,
gave a quiet embrace and warning look to the faithful girl, sobbing
under her breath, then went down-stairs again. I dared not venture to
go into the little parlour for a last word, lest some tender speech of
Lilian's should cause me to break down; so little would do it just now,
when every nerve was stretched to its utmost tension.
I passed swiftly out, and down the garden path, only venturing to give
one look back to nod and kiss my hand, when I reached the gate, and
then sped on as fast as my feet would carry me. I was just turning into
the lane which led towards the stile, when suddenly I found myself face
to face with Robert Wentworth.
'Where are you going to at that rate, Mary?'
I shrank back, for a moment incapable of uttering a word; eyeing him
desperately, almost defiantly, for I felt in my misery as though he had
suddenly presented himself in my path to bar my escape--a new power
to strive against, when my strength was almost spent. He could always
see deeper than any one else; and he had come upon me when I was so
unprepared. I had just dropped the smiling mask which I had found it
so difficult to wear all day, and was beginning to feel sufficiently
secure from observation to be less careful as to what my face might
tell. I caught in my breath, shrinking farther away, but facing him
like an animal at bay. For a few moments he stood gazing at me,
apparently as much at a loss for words as I was myself, then his eyes
fell upon my muffled hand, and he asked: 'Have you hurt your hand,
Mary?'
'Yes.'
'Not seriously, I hope? How did it happen?'
I looked down at my hand in a dazed kind of way, trying to recollect
what had happened to it. 'I don't know. Good-bye.'
'Mary! is there anything to be done which a brother might do for you?'
he asked in a low troubled voice.
I tried to think what brothers could do, and what there was to be done
for me, then shook my head.
'For old friendship's sake, _do_ treat me as a brother now, Mary!'
His very evident perturbation had the good effect of making me rally
my scattered wits, and I was so far like myself again as to reply:
'The only--only way in which you can help me just now is to let me go
without any further questioning.'
He stood aside at once without a word, and I passed on. But I had no
sooner done so than my conscience smote me. Was _this_ the way to part
from him--the one above all others so true to me? I turned back to
where he remained standing, laid my hand for a moment upon his arm,
and said: 'Please forgive my rudeness, Robert; and believe that if
there were anything for a brother to do, I would ask you to do it. And
perhaps you _will_ be able to help me presently in trying to convince
them that, however blamable I may at first appear, I have acted, as I
believe, for the best;' thinking that they might possibly turn to him
for advice and assistance. Then offering my hand, I added tremulously:
'Good-bye, Robert.'
'God keep you, Mary!'
(_To be concluded next month._)