It was not long before Stafford Melton became quite at home; his grave
manner was only the indication of a thoughtful mind, and in nowise
implied a want of cheerfulness. Cordial as his relations with his uncle
became, it was at the Rectory he found the most sympathy. The Squire
was a politician of the old school, with a wholesome dread of anything
newfangled, while the young man had imbibed some of the rising spirit
of the age. '_I_,' Mr Linley was wont to say, 'am a man of peace, and
to avoid storms, eschew politics;' but he lent a willing ear to all
that was stirring men's minds--social questions, new inventions, and
the wonders beginning to be worked by the marvellous power of steam.
There was often another listener too; Dorothy followed these new tracks
of thought, and it was in the light of a new experience, every day
becoming deeper. She never asked herself what it might be that made
her feel such gladness, only when Stafford spoke of his travels in
prospect, her heart sank at the thought of what life would be like when
he had gone.
September came, and then she saw Gilbert Strange, Stafford's close
friend, whom the Squire had cordially invited to come and join their
sport when the vacation should set him free, for he was a young
barrister. Used to a life in town, he threw himself with almost boyish
ardour into their country pursuits; and his high spirits and courteous
ways soon endeared him to the little circle. He won the Squire's heart,
and many a cover they shot over together, for often Stafford, who was
no sportsman by choice, abandoned the gun for more peaceful rambles
with the Rector and deep discussions on the new theories of Culture.
'You see, Mrs Linley,' said Gilbert, as he joined them one evening to
find his truant friend, 'Fortune committed an error in casting our lots
in life. Stafford ought to have worn my wig and gown; while I--can you
not fancy the country Squire I should have made?'
Dorothy, who was sitting near, looked up from her work. 'Do you not
think, Mr Strange,' she asked, 'that it is better to improve your acres
than to shoot over them?'
'Miss Dorothy,' he said, in mock-appealing tones, 'I always remark that
you are severe upon my follies, and the worst part is, your arguments
are unanswerable. Stafford is happy in having so staunch a supporter.'
It was a random shot, but Dorothy felt the colour rise to her face; and
her mirthful adversary continued: 'I must retire from the field.--Miss
Juliet, will you be more lenient, and accord me a shelter?' Juliet
moved her seat to allow him to take one near, with a smile of welcome,
but said nothing. I think Gilbert was beginning to read even her
silences, and another heart too guessed their meaning.
Days flew by, but still the young men lingered. October was dying out
with such a flush of glory, it seemed like the last kiss of Summer.
'Oh, must it ever change to winter?' sighed Dorothy as from their
window she watched Juliet start on some kindly errand to a cottage
near. Only a little while she stepped out of the every-day world into
the ideal; her youth's golden dreams were passing away as swiftly as
that autumn time. Presently, her sister was again in sight, but this
time not alone. Oh, cruel picture set against the fair sky! what sharp
instinct like a quivering stab made it so clear? The little downcast
figure lifting its softened eyes in mute apology for the pain it gave,
and Stafford's well-known form bending towards it with sad earnest
pleading. They pause at length, and he crushing his hopes in a last
grasp of the little hand, turned and walked quickly away. Dorothy's
heart went out to him in pity and unknown sympathy--those two, so far
apart, and yet both passing through their baptism of fire. She could
not stand idle; she would go to meet her sister; there was nothing
strange in that; they often did so to each other; and swiftly she
hurried down the avenue into which Juliet had turned. She was met
almost sharply.
'Why, Dorothy, why did you come? Do you not see it is raining?'
Yes, the sun had gone down, and a soft October shower was dropping on
the dead leaves.
'I thought it would be dusk, dear, and you were alone.'
'Yes, at least now. But,' faltered Juliet, 'I met Stafford;' and with a
sudden outburst, she almost sobbed: 'Why should he love me? He wanted
me to be his wife!'
'And you could not?'
'I! O no--of course not.' Dorothy could not see the reason so plainly;
but Juliet seemed to do so very conclusively. 'I am so sorry,' she went
on. But her auditor cared to hear no more; she knew it now, and wanted
only to take up her steely shield of womanly pride. 'Had we not better
hasten in?' she said gently. Already the pretty frilled cape on her
shoulders hung limp with the damp.