AT LEIGHTON.
It was a very pretty picture which greeted Roy’s vision next morning,
when, at an earlier hour than usual, he arose and sauntered out into the
garden, glancing involuntary toward Miss Overton’s window, and noticing
that it was open, but seeing no signs of its owner near it. Edna was in
the garden before him, gathering a bouquet for the breakfast table, and
looking so fresh, and bright, and beautiful, with the flush of early
girlhood upon her face, and the deep peace shining in her brown eyes,
that Roy felt his pulse beat faster as he approached her and passed the
compliments of the morning.
“You are an early riser,” he said, “and your cheeks show the good
effects of it; they are almost as bright as the rose in your hand.”
“The fates forbid. So high a color as that would be vulgar, you know,”
Edna replied, laughing back at him, and then continuing: “Perhaps you
think me a trespasser, or even worse, a thief; but I assure you I am
neither. Mrs. Churchill told me yesterday to gather flowers whenever I
liked, and I thought the breakfast table might be improved with a
bouquet. I always used to get one for Uncle Phil, when I could.”
Roy hastened to reassure her; and then, as he saw her trying to reach a
spray which grew too high for her, he pulled it down himself, and in so
doing scattered a few drops of dew upon her uncovered head; very
carefully he brushed them off, noting, as he did so, the luxuriance of
the golden brown hair, and the clear coloring of the neck and brow, and
thinking to himself what a dainty little creature she was, and that
Leighton was a great deal pleasanter for having her there. She was an
enthusiastic admirer of everything beautiful, both in nature and art,
and the grounds at Leighton filled her with delight, and she said out
what she felt, while her eyes sparkled and shone, and almost dazzled Roy
with their brilliancy, when, as was often the case, they were turned
upward to his for assent to what she was saying. The gravel walks were
still wet, and glancing down at Edna’s feet, Roy saw that the little
boots showed signs of damp, and stopped her suddenly.
“You are wetting your feet, Miss Overton,” he said. “Let me go for your
overshoes, and then I will take you around the grounds. It is a full
hour before breakfast time, and mother will not need you till then.”
Edna was not at all averse to the walk, but she preferred getting her
own overshoes, and ran back to the house for them, while Roy stood
watching her and thinking how lithe and graceful she was, and that she
must by birth and blood belong to the higher class; and then he thought
of Edna, whom Georgie had said Miss Overton resembled, and wondered if
she were half as pretty, and graceful, and bright as this young girl who
seemed to have taken his fancy by storm. We say _fancy_, because if any
one had then hinted to Roy Leighton that he was more interested in Miss
Overton than men like him are usually interested in young ladies whom
they have only known for twenty-four hours, he would have laughed at the
idea, and if questioned closely, would have acknowledged to himself at
least, that far down in his heart was an intention of ultimately
marrying Georgie Burton. He rather owed it to her that he should make
her his wife sometime, he thought; her name had been so long associated
with his, and his mother was so fond of her; and knowing this of
himself, he felt almost as if he were already a married man, and as
such, could admire Miss Overton as much as he pleased. She was coming
towards him now, her hat in her hand, and as she walked swiftly, her
curls were blown about her face by the morning wind, recalling
involuntarily to Roy’s mind that scene in the cars more than two years
ago, and the picture of himself in the poke bonnet, which he carefully
preserved. But Roy had no suspicion that the face confronting him was
the same which had looked so saucily and curiously at him in the railway
car, and had, with its witching beauty, been the means, through
Providence, of that early grave toward which they were walking, and
where poor Charlie slept. There was a shadow on Edna’s face as they
approached it, and when the gate to the entrance was reached, she
stopped involuntarily, and laid her hand upon the iron railing.
“My brother’s grave,” Roy said, standing close to her side.
“Yes; your mother told me. I was here with her yesterday,” Edna replied,
hoping thus to prevent Roy from talking to her of Charlie.
She had felt guilty and mean when listening to Mrs. Churchill; and she
should feel tenfold more guilty and mean, she thought, and find it
harder work keeping quiet, if Roy, too, should tell her of his brother
and his brother’s wife. But Roy did tell her of them, and talked a good
deal of Edna, _his sister_, whom he had never seen but once.
“Miss Burton tells me you resemble her,” he said; “and that may be the
reason why you seem so little like a stranger to me. I should be so glad
to know Edna,—to have her here at home. Poor girl! I am afraid she is
finding the world a harsh one, struggling alone as she is!”
He spoke so kindly that Edna had hard work to refrain from crying out:
“Mr. Leighton, I am a liar, a cheat, an impostor! I am not what I seem.
I am Edna, and not Miss Overton.”
But she did not do it; and when at last she spoke, it was to ask if Mrs.
Charlie Churchill had no friends or relatives, that she should be thus
thrown upon her own resources.
“Yes; she has an aunt,—a Miss Jerusha Pepper, whose name is something of
an index to her character,” Roy said; and then, as there came up before
his mind the picture of Aunt Jerry, as he first saw her, bending over
her boiling caldron, and looking more like Macbeth’s witches than a
civilized woman, he broke into a low, merry laugh, which brought a flush
to Edna’s face, for she guessed of what he was thinking.
She had heard from Aunt Jerry herself of Roy’s visit to Allen’s Hill,
and how he had found her employed.
“Dressed in my regimentals, and looking like the very evil one himself!”
Aunt Jerry had written. And Edna, who knew _what_ the “regimentals”
were, and how her aunt looked in them, wondered what Roy thought of her,
and if she herself had not fallen somewhat in his estimation. She knew
he was laughing at some reminiscence connected with that soap-making in
the lane; and she could not forbear asking him if just the thoughts of
Miss Jerusha were sufficient to provoke his risibles.
“Well, yes,” Roy answered; “I always laugh when I think of her arrayed
in the most wonderful costume you ever saw, I reckon, and deep in the
mysteries of soap-making. And still, no queen ever bore herself more
proudly than she did, as she tried to feign indifference to her own
attire and my presence.
“It was a pleasant enough place, or might be, with young people in it,
though I fancy Edna must have led a dreary life there, and was thus more
easily led to escape from it. Still, I am not certain, that in doing so,
she has not proved, in her own experience, the truth of Scylla and
Charybdis.”
“Oh, no; I am sure she has not!” Edna exclaimed, so vehemently that for
a moment Roy looked curiously at her, noticing how flushed, and eager,
and excited she looked, and wondering at it.
Then suddenly there came to him the remembrance of Georgie’s words:
“Wouldn’t it be funny if this Miss Overton should prove to be Edna in
disguise?” and without at all believing that it was so, he resolved upon
a test which should at once decide the matter, and put to rest any
doubts which might hereafter arise.
Just across a little plat of grass Russell was busily employed with a
clump of dahlias, and thither Roy turned his steps, with Miss Overton at
his side.
Russell had seen Edna in Iona, and Roy had heard him say that he never
forgot a face; so he stood talking to him several minutes, professing a
great interest in the dahlias, but really watching him closely as he
bowed very gravely to the young lady, and then resumed his work.
Edna had thought of Russell, and dreaded him as the possible means of
her being detected; but in his case, as in Georgie’s, she trusted that
the change in her dress and the style of wearing her hair, and the
expression of her face from one of terror and distress to peace and
happiness, would effectually prevent recognition. Georgie evidently had
not recognized her, and Russell certainly would not; so she stood
quietly before him, seeming in no haste whatever to get away, and even
asked him some questions about a new variety of dahlia which she had
never before seen.
For once Russell’s memory was at fault, for he did not know her; though
he pronounced her a trim, neat sort of craft, as he stood for a moment
watching her, as she walked away with Roy, who led her down a grassy
lane toward the little cottage, where she had once thought to move him
and his mother.
There was a half-sad, half-amused smile on Edna’s face, as she recalled
the days of her delusion, and looked at the cottage overgrown with ivy,
where one of Roy’s men was living, and with whom he stopped a moment to
speak about a piece of work. It was nearly breakfast time now; and the
two walked slowly back to the house, where Mrs. Churchill sat waiting
for them in the cosey breakfast-room. The flowers Edna had gathered were
upon the table; and Roy thought how bright they made everything look,
and enjoyed his breakfast as he had not done for many a day. It was
pleasant to have a young face opposite to him; pleasant to have a young
life break up the monotony of his own; and Leighton Place seemed to him
just now as it never had before; and, during the morning, while Miss
Overton was engaged with his mother, he found himself thinking far more
of her than of the croquet party which Georgie had planned, and which
was to come off that afternoon.