"When adversities flow
Then love ebbs; but friendship standeth stiffly
In storms."
Lilly.
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People, women especially, make resolutions sometimes with no more to
back them up than a vague hope that they will be able to carry them out
in some haphazard fashion. Winifred had almost offended Mrs Miles by
the slackness of her visits to the cottage, and hardly knew whether
Anthony were in Thorpe or not. She persuaded Bessie, however, to ride
with her father, and, putting on her red cloak, went across the meadows,
making a little spot of brightness in the midst of the quiet winter
colouring.
She walked through the village, lingering a little at the post-office,
and afterwards going on towards Underham, simply from not knowing where
else to turn. The rain had reduced the roads to thick mud, and strewn
them with little twigs and branches, whipped from the trees by the
violence of the storm. But, as not infrequently happens after these
fierce gales, there was an exquisite beauty shining where lately the
hurly-burly had raged. Instinctively Winifred stopped at a gate in the
hedge to look at what was generally dull and uninteresting enough, a
long stretch of flat meadows with low hills beyond. But the meadow was
transfigured with a depth of colour; there were rich patches of indigo
and russet, poplars lighting up the sober background with streaks of
brown light, breadths of freshly turned earth, infinite traceries
springing from dark stems, a delicate sky broken by soft shadows and
round masses of living light, little pools of shining beautiful water
left by the rains, hedges ruddy with crimson berries, a white horse, an
old man leaning on his stick,--the picture was full of simple, homely
grace.
She was still looking at it when some one came along the road behind
her. It was Mr Robert Mannering, and his first words connected
themselves with her own purpose.
"Have you seen Anthony Miles?" he asked. "He was to come down by this
train, and I am particularly desirous to meet him." Something that he
saw in Winifred's face made him add immediately, "So you have heard it,
too?"
"Does Anthony know?" asked the girl, without answering directly.
Mr Robert's kindly face looked grave and worried. He began to brush
imaginary dust from his coat-sleeve,--an action in which he always took
refuge under any annoyance.
"If you mean the report," he said, laying a little stress upon the last
word, "I imagine that he does not. To tell you the truth, that is why I
am here; for his father's sake I am inclined to let him hear what is
said."
Winifred flushed a little.
"I do not know why you should say for his father's sake," she said at
once. "I do not suppose that Anthony's friends can have allowed a
breath of this horrible story to affect them, so that their one wish
must be to stand by him for his own sake."
She stopped and looked at Mr Mannering, who was silent.
"Surely," said Winifred impetuously, "Mr Pitt has not influenced you!"
"My dear," said Robert Mannering, looking out towards the low hills, and
speaking with a little hesitation, "I think that Anthony had a difficult
duty to perform--"
"Yes, yes, go on," said Winifred, trying to govern her voice.
"And that he shrank from it."
She could no longer laugh as she had laughed the night before. A
sickening feeling came over her. Was this lie actually living,
spreading, destroying? Her eyes filled with a rush of tears. She
lifted her hand in mute indignation.
"You--his friend!--you believe that!"