Mr Brooke was not very well. He was subject to very severe headaches,
and had at these times to stay quiet. Annie might have noticed by his
languid brown eyes and his slow and somewhat feeble step that something
was wrong with him, had she not been so absorbed in her own pleasure.
"Good-morning, Uncle Maurice," she said. "I hope you are hungry for
breakfast; for if you are not, I am."
"I can't manage much this morning, my love," said the old rector. "Just
a cup of tea, please, and--and--well, yes--a very small piece of toast."
"Are you ill?" said Annie a little crossly, for she had small sympathy
for suffering.
"Not exactly, my love. I have a headache; but it will pass."
"Oh, if you only knew how I suffered from them at school," said Annie in
a careless tone. "Dear me! isn't this room too hot, Uncle Maurice? Do
you mind if I open the window?"
"No, my love," he answered. But when she flung wide the window he
shivered slightly, although he would not show his discomfort for the
world.
Annie helped herself to the excellent breakfast provided by Mrs Shelf.
She was really hungry, and was in excellent spirits. Things were
turning out well. Even the Rectory would be endurable if she might
leave it on Monday. She made a careful calculation in her own mind.
This was Friday morning. She would have to go to London on Monday
night.
She must sleep at a hotel; that would be all the better fun. Then she
would start on Tuesday from Victoria Station and arrive in Paris that
night. Nothing mattered after that; all would be golden after that.
Her reaping-time would arrive; her harvest would be ready for her to
gather. Oh yes, she was a happy and contented girl this morning!
"How nice the home-made bread is!" she said; "and the butter is so good!
Have you got Cowslip and Dewlip still, Uncle Maurice?"
"Yes, my dear," he answered, brightening up at her interest in the
Rectory animals; "and Dewlip has such a lovely calf with a white star on
her forehead. We have called it after you--Annie. I hope you don't
mind. Mrs Shelf would do it; for she took it into her head that the
calf had a look of you."
"Really, uncle! That's not a compliment; but I don't care. I'll have
some of that strawberry jam, if you please."
"The jam is good, isn't it?" said Mr Brooke. "It is made from the last
crop of strawberries. Mrs Shelf is a first-rate housekeeper."
Annie helped herself plentifully. She poured rich cream on the jam, and
ate with an epicure's appreciation. At last her appetite was satisfied,
and she had time to consider as to when she would break her tidings to
Uncle Maurice.
"Are you coming out with me?" she asked. "What are we going to do with
ourselves this morning?"
"Well, my love--I am really sorry--it is most unlucky--I haven't
suffered as I am doing to-day--I may say for months. I suppose it is
the excitement of having you back again, little Annie; but I really do
fear that until my head gets better I must remain quiet. I get so
giddy, my darling, when I try to walk; but doubtless by lunch-time I
shall be better. You must amuse yourself alone this morning, my little
girl; but I have no doubt that Mrs Shelf has all kinds of plans to
propose to you."
Annie stood up. Outside, the garden smiled; but the little room in
which they breakfasted, warm enough in the evening, was somewhat chilly
now, for it faced due west.
"I do want to talk to you so badly," she said; "and--can I just have a
few words with you between now and post-time? I must write a letter for
the post, and I have to consult you about it. I won't worry you, dear;
only the thing must be talked about and arranged, so when shall I come
to you?"
"The post goes early from here," said the rector--"at one o'clock. It
is nine now; come to me at twelve, Annie. I dare say I shall be all
right by then."
"All right or not," thought Annie, "he'll have to hear my little bit of
information not later that twelve o'clock."
She went out of the room. The rector watched her as she disappeared.
He did not know why he felt so depressed and uneasy. His headache was
rather worse, and he felt some slight shivers going down his old frame,
caused no doubt by the open window.
He left the breakfast-room and entered his study, where a fire was
burning, and where, in his opinion, things were much more comfortable.
He did not feel well enough to settle down to any special work. He drew
up an easy-chair in front of the fire and sat there lost in thought.
His darling was safe at home; the apple of his eye was with him. She
was all he possessed in the wide, wide world. There was nothing he
would grudge her--nothing in reason; but, somehow, he dreaded the time
when she would return and talk to him about that letter which must catch
the post. Anxiety was bad for him, and his head grew worse.
Meanwhile Annie, avoiding Mrs Shelf, took her writing materials into the
garden, and in the sunniest corner penned a long letter to her friend.
"Of course I am coming, dear Mabel," she wrote. "I have got to tackle
the old uncle at twelve o'clock, but it will be all right. When I have
seen him and got the needful, or the promise of it, I will write to Lady
Lushington. I am looking forward beyond words to our time together.
You need not be uneasy; I will manage the horrid bills. Whatever else
your Annie lacks, she is not destitute of brains. Trust to me, dear, to
see you through. Oh! I am glad that you appreciate my efforts on your
behalf.--Your loving friend,--
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Annie Brooke."
This letter was just written when Mrs Shelf approached Annie's side.
"I wonder now, Annie," she said, "if you would mind riding into
Rashleigh to fetch Dr Brett. I don't like the state your uncle is in.
You could have Dobbin to ride; he's not up to much, but really I think
Dr Brett should come. I don't like Mr Brooke's appearance. He is so
flashed about the face, and so queer in himself altogether."