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diff --git a/old/52002-h/52002-h.htm b/old/52002-h/52002-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 9811931..0000000 --- a/old/52002-h/52002-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6769 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mitchelhurst Place, by Margaret Veley - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> -<style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .75em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .75em; - -} - -.chapter {page-break-before: always;} -.p200 {font-size: 2em;} - -hr.tb { - width: 45%; - margin-left: 27.5%; - margin-right: 27.5%; - margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; -} -hr.short { - width: 6%; - margin-left: 48%; - margin-right: 48%; - margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; -} - -@media handheld {hr, hr.tb, hr.short {border-width: 0; margin: 0;}} - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} -@media handheld {table {width: 98%; margin-left: 1%; margin-right: 1%;}} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; -} /* page numbers */ - -.center {text-align: center;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.subhead {font-size: 1.2em; text-align: center;} - -.byline {font-size: .8em; text-align: center;} - -.author {font-size: 1.3em; text-align: center;} - -.other-book {font-size: .7em; text-align: center;} - -.publisher {font-size: 1.2em; letter-spacing: .2em; word-spacing: .2em;} - -/* Poetry */ -.poetry-container {text-align: center; margin: 0;} -.poetry {display: inline-block; text-align: left;} -.poetry .verse {margin: .5em 0em;} -.poetry .line {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} -.poetry .outdent {text-indent: -3.5em; padding-left: 3em;} -.poetry .indent {text-indent: 1.5em;} - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mitchelhurst Place, Vol. II, by Margaret Veley - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Mitchelhurst Place, Vol. II - A Novel - -Author: Margaret Veley - -Release Date: May 5, 2016 [EBook #52002] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MITCHELHURST PLACE, VOL. II *** - - - - -Produced by Robert Cicconetti, David K. Park and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<h1>MITCHELHURST PLACE<br /> -<small>VOL. II</small></h1> - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<hr class="tb" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 140px;"> -<img src="images/colophon.jpg" width="140" height="53" alt="Colophon" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<hr class="tb" /> -<p class="center p200">MITCHELHURST PLACE</p> - -<p class="subhead">A Novel</p> - -<p class="byline">BY</p> - -<p class="author">MARGARET VELEY</p> - -<p class="other-book">AUTHOR OF "FOR PERCIVAL"</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line outdent">"Que voulez-vous? Hélas! notre mère Nature,</div> -<div class="line">Comme toute autre mère, a ses enfants gâtés,</div> -<div class="line">Et pour les malvenus elle est avare et dure!"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="center">IN TWO VOLUMES<br /> -VOL. II.</p> - -<p class="center">London<br /> -<span class="publisher">MACMILLAN AND CO.</span><br /> -1884</p> - -<p class="center"><small><i>The Right of Translation and Reproduction is Reserved.</i></small></p> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center">Bungay:</p> - -<p class="center">CLAY AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS.</p> -</div> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="tb" /> -<h2>CONTENTS OF VOL. II.</h2> -</div> - -<hr class="short" /> -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="0"> -<tr> -<td align="right">CHAPTER</td> -<td align="left"> </td> -<td align="right" colspan="2">PAGE</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="right">I.</td> -<td align="left">NO LETTER</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">1</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="right">II.</td> -<td align="left">ONE MORE HOLIDAY</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">27</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="right">III.</td> -<td align="left">MOONSHINE</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">44</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="right">IV.</td> -<td align="left">REYNOLD'S REGRET</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">69</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="right">V.</td> -<td align="left">LOVE'S MESSENGER</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">85</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="right">VI.</td> -<td align="left">A PERPLEXING REFLECTION</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">112</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="right">VII.</td> -<td align="left">TWO GLANCES</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">144</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="right">VIII.</td> -<td align="left">IN NUTFIELD LANE</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">157</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="right">IX.</td> -<td align="left">A VERSE OF AN OLD SONG</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">185</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="right">X.</td> -<td align="left">JANUARY, 1883</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">232</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="tb" /> -<p class="center p200">MITCHELHURST PLACE</p> -</div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.<br /> - -<span class="subhead">NO LETTER.</span></h2> - -<p>The Mitchelhurst postman, coming up -to the Place in his daily round, found a -young man loitering to and fro within -view of the gate. The morning was a -pleasant one. The roadside grass was grey -with dew, and glistening pearls and diamonds -were strung on the threads of gossamer, -tangled over bush and blade. The hollies -in the hedgerows were brave and bright, -and there were many-tinted leaves yet -clinging to the bramble-sprays. Sun and -wet together had turned the common road <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> -to a shining, splendid way, up which the -old postman crept, a dull, little, toiling -figure, with a bag over his shoulder, and -something white in his hand. The young -man timed his indolent stroll so that they -met each other on the weedy slope, which -led to the iron gate, with its solid pillars, -and white stone balls. There, with the -briefest possible nod by way of salutation, -he demanded his letters.</p> - -<p>The old fellow knew him as the gentleman -who was staying with Mr. Hayes, and -touched his cap obsequiously. He had -carried his bag for more than thirty years, -and remembered old Squire Rothwell, and -Mr. John, and he fumbled with the letters -in his hand, half expecting a curse at his -slowness, and hardly knowing what name -he was to look for. The other stood with -his head high, showing a sharply-cut profile <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> -as he turned a little, looking intently in -the direction of the Place. Through the -black bars shone a pale bright picture of -blue sky, and level turf, and the gnarled -and fantastic branches of the sunlit avenue. -There were yellow leaves on the straight -roadway, and shadows softly interlaced, -and at the end the white, silent house.</p> - -<p>The postman finished his investigation, -and announced in a hesitating tone, "No, -sir, no letter, sir. No letter at all, name of -Rothwell."</p> - -<p>The young man turned upon him. -"Harding, I said."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir. No, sir, no letter name of -Harding."</p> - -<p>"Are you sure? Give them to me."</p> - -<p>He looked them over. There were letters -and papers for Mr. Hayes, one or two for -the servants, and one that had come from <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> -Devonshire for Barbara. He gave them -back with a meditative frown, and turned -on his heel without a word. The postman -pushed the gate just sufficiently to permit -of a crab-like entrance to the grounds, and -plodded along the avenue, while the young -fellow walked definitely away towards the -village.</p> - -<p>"The old boy doesn't write business -letters on Sunday, I dare say," he said -to himself. "No, I don't suppose he would. -Well, I shall hear to-morrow. As well to-morrow -as to-day, perhaps—better, perhaps. -And yet—and yet—Oh God! to get to -work! I have banished myself from her -presence, I have shut that gate against me—that -old fool goes crawling up there with -his letters—any one in Mitchelhurst may -knock at that door, and I may not! -There's nothing left for me but to do the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> -task she set me, and by Heaven, I will! -I shall have the right to speak to her -then, at any rate!"</p> - -<p>Barbara had intended to see Reynold -before he left that morning. She did not -know what she wanted to say, she was -uneasy at the thought of the interview, -but she could not endure that he should -be dismissed from the old house without -a parting word. While Harding was -moodily doubting whether he had not -alienated her for ever, she was wondering -what she could say or do to atone for the -wrong done to him by her timidity. She -did not fully understand the meaning of -the wrathful anguish of his last speech, but -she knew that she had pained him. She -planned a score of dialogues, she wearied -herself in vain endeavours to guess what -he would say, and then, tired out, she <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> -solved the question by sleeping till the -sunlight fell upon her face, and the banished -man was already beyond the gate.</p> - -<p>She knew the truth the moment she -awoke. It was only to confirm her certainty -that she dressed hurriedly and went -out into the passage, to see the door -standing wide, and the vacant room. It -seemed but yesterday, and yet so long -ago, since she made it ready for the coming -guest, who had left it in anger. Barbara -sighed, and turned away. At the head of -the stairs she recalled the slim, dark figure -that had stood there so few hours before, -fixing his angry eyes upon her, and grasping -the balustrade with long fingers as he -spoke. The very ticking of the old clock -reminded her of their talk together the -morning after he came, and seemed to -say "gone! gone! gone! gone!" as she <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> -went by.</p> - -<p>Her uncle came down a few minutes -later, greeted her shortly, and glanced at -the table. It was laid for two. "I suppose -there is nothing to wait for?" he said.</p> - -<p>"Nothing," said Barbara, and she rang -the bell.</p> - -<p>He unfolded a newspaper and spoke from -behind it. "You know that young fellow -is gone?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Time he did go! I wish he had never -come! Did you say good-bye to him?"</p> - -<p>"No. He went before I was down."</p> - -<p>Mr. Hayes uttered a little sound expressive -of satisfaction, and the girl perceived -that she had accidentally led him to suppose -that she had had no talk with Harding -since the quarrel. She did not speak. -The maid came into the room with the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> -urn, and Mr. Hayes turned to her. "What -man was that I saw in the hall just -now?"</p> - -<p>"He came for the gentleman's portmanteau, -sir. He was to take it to Mrs. -Simmonds."</p> - -<p>He started, but controlled himself. "Mrs. -Simmonds?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir, Mrs. Simmonds at the shop."</p> - -<p>Mr. Hayes was silent only till the door -was closed behind her. Then, "He has -done that to spite me!" he said furiously. -"Serves me right for trying to be civil to -one of these confounded Rothwells! They -have the devil's own temper, every one of -them, and if they can do you a bad turn, -they will!"</p> - -<p>Barbara said nothing, but made tea rather -drearily.</p> - -<p>"Confound him!" Mr. Hayes began <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> -afresh. "Now I suppose the whole place -will be cackling about this! He deserves -to be kicked out of the parish, and I -should like to do it! I wish to heaven, -Barbara, you wouldn't pick young men -out of the ditches in this fashion! You -see what comes of it!"</p> - -<p>Barbara, appealed to in this direct and -reasonable manner, plucked up her spirit, -and replied, rather loftily, that she would -certainly remember in future. She further -remarked that the fish was getting cold.</p> - -<p>Mr. Hayes threw down the paper, and -took his place. There was silence for a -minute or two, and then he began again.</p> - -<p>"There isn't a soul in Mitchelhurst that -doesn't know he was staying here. What -do you suppose they will say when they -find him starting off at a moment's notice, -and taking a lodging in the village, not a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> -stone's throw from my gate?"</p> - -<p>Barbara privately thought that, as Mr. -Harding had betaken himself to the further -end of Mitchelhurst, her uncle's talent for -throwing stones must be remarkable. She -did not suggest this, however, and when -he repeated his question, "What do you -suppose they will say?" she only replied -that she did not know, she was sure.</p> - -<p>"Don't you?" said he, with withering -scorn. "Well, I do." It was true enough. -He could guess pretty well what the gossips -would say, and the sting of it was that their -version would not differ very much from the -actual fact.</p> - -<p>Barbara looked down, and finished her -breakfast without a word. She knew that -silence was the safest course she could -adopt, since it gave him no chance of -turning his anger on her, but she also <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> -knew that it irritated him dreadfully. -That, however, she did not mind. Barbara -herself was rather cross that morning. She -had meant to be up early, and she had slept -later than usual; she was vexed and disappointed, -and she had been worried by the -jarring tempers of the last two days. She -kept her head bent, and her lips closed, -while Mr. Hayes drank his second cup -of tea with a muttered accompaniment of -abuse.</p> - -<p>"Look here," he said suddenly, getting -up, and going to the fire, "I don't know -how long that fellow means to stay in -Mitchelhurst, but, till he leaves, you don't -go beyond the gate. I don't suppose you -would wish to do so"—he paused, but she -was apparently absorbed in the consideration -of a little ring on her finger—"I -should hope you have proper feeling enough <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> -not to wish to do so"—this appeal was also -received in a strictly neutral manner—"but -in any case you have my express command -to the contrary."</p> - -<p>"Very well," said Barbara, with a little -affectation of being rather weary of the -whole subject.</p> - -<p>"I do not choose that you should be -exposed to insult," Mr. Hayes continued.</p> - -<p>"Very well," said Barbara again. "I -can stay in if you like, though I don't -think Mr. Harding would insult me."</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon, my dear, but you -are not qualified to judge in this matter. -If you had heard Mr. Harding's conversation -last night you might not be quite so sure -what he would or would not do. It is my -duty to protect you from an unpleasant -possibility, and you will oblige me by not -going beyond—or rather by not going near <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> -the gate."</p> - -<p>Barbara, tired of saying "Very well," -said "All right."</p> - -<p>"Wednesday is the night of Pryor's -entertainment at the schools. I shall be -sorry to disappoint him, but I certainly -shall not go unless Mr. Harding has left -the place. He has shown such a deplorable -want of taste and proper feeling that he -would probably take that opportunity of -thrusting himself upon us."</p> - -<p>Mr. Hayes paused once more, but the -girl did not seem inclined either to defend -or to denounce their late guest. She -changed her position listlessly, and gazed -out of the window.</p> - -<p>"A gentleman would not, but that proves -nothing with regard to Mr. Harding. You -are very silent this morning, Barbara."</p> - -<p>"I have a headache," she said, "I'm <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> -tired," and to her great relief, Mr. Hayes, -after walking two or three times up and -down the room, went off to his study.</p> - -<p>The poor little man was not happy. He -sincerely regretted the quarrel of the evening -before, which had come upon him, as -upon Reynold, unawares. He was accustomed -to the society of a few neighbours, -who understood him, and said behind his -back, "Oh, you must not mind what Hayes -says!" or "I met Hayes yesterday—a little -bit more cracked than usual!" and took all -his sallies good-humouredly, with argument, -perhaps, or loud-voiced denial at the time, -but nothing in the way of consequences. -Thunder might roll, but no bolt fell, and -the sky was as clear as usual at the next -meeting. Mr. Hayes had unconsciously -fallen into the habit of talking without any -sense of responsibility. On this occasion <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> -a variety of circumstances had combined -to irritate him, and his personal dislike of -Reynold Harding had given a touch of acrid -malice to his attack, but he meant no more -than to have the pleasure of contradicting, -and, if possible, silencing his companion. -The game was played more roughly than -usual, but Mr. Hayes never realised that -his adversary was angrily in earnest till it -was too late. Excitement had mastered -him, there was an interchange of speeches, -swift and fierce as blows, and then he saw -Kate Rothwell's son, standing before him, -trembling with fury, and hoarsely declaring -that he would leave the house at once. He -had only to close his eyes to see him again, -the tall young figure leaning forward into -the light, with his clenched hands resting -on the polished table, amid the disarray of -silver and glasses, his dark brows drawn <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> -down, and his angry eyes aglow. Conciliation -was impossible on either side, -though the shock of definite rupture so far -sobered them that Harding's departure was -deferred to the morning. But, "I will never -break bread under <i>your</i> roof again!" the -young man had said, with a glance round -the room, and a curious significance of tone. -Then he turned away to encounter Barbara -upon the stairs.</p> - -<p>To Harding, matters had seemed at their -worst during the black hours of silence, and -the morning brought something of comfort. -If there is but a possibility that work may -help us in our troubles, the dullest day is -better than the night. But to Mr. Hayes -the daylight came drearily, showing the -folly of a business which nothing could -mend. For more than a quarter of a -century he had plumed himself on his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> -gratitude to Kate Rothwell for her kindness -to his dead love, and had imagined -that he only lacked an opportunity to serve -her. And this graceful sentiment, being -put to the test, had not prevented him -from quarrelling with her son, and turning -the young fellow out of doors. Yes, he, -Herbert Hayes, had actually driven Kate's -boy from Mitchelhurst Place! and what -made it worse, if anything could make it -worse, was the revelation of the utter -impotence of that cherished gratitude. He -regretted what he had done, but he must -abide by it. Apologise to Harding?—he -would die first! Own to one of the -Rothwells that he had been in the wrong?—the -mere thought, crossing his mind, as -he tied his cravat that morning, very nearly -choked him. Never—never! Not if it were -Kate herself! But he reddened to the roots <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> -of his white hair at the thought of the -gossip and laughter which would follow the -unseemly squabble.</p> - -<p>He would be unfairly judged. He said -so over and over again, and in a certain -sense it was true, for he had never intended -to quarrel with his guest. But he could not -prove even the innocence he felt. He remembered -two or three bitter fragments of -their wrangling which would condemn him -if repeated. Yet he knew he had not meant -them as his judges would take them. "Well, -but," some practical neighbour would say, "if -you say such things, what do you expect?" -That was just it—he had expected nothing, -though nobody would believe it, and all at -once this catastrophe had come upon him.</p> - -<p>So he went down to breakfast, sincerely -troubled and repentant, and consequently -in a very unpleasant mood. Repentance <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> -seldom makes a man an agreeable companion, -and when it seizes the head of the -house the subordinate members naturally -share his discomfort. The moment he set -foot in the breakfast-room he was met by -the news of Harding's stay in the village, -and his anger blazed up again, though, -through it all, he had an uncomfortable -consciousness that the young man had a -right to stay in Mitchelhurst if he pleased. -If he could only have convinced himself -that Reynold was utterly in the wrong, he -would have forgiven him and been happy. -But it is almost impossible to forgive a -man who is somewhat in the wrong, yet -less so than oneself.</p> - -<p>Harding had been guided by Barbara in -his search for a lodging. When they were -standing together at the edge of the ditch, -she had reminded her uncle that Mrs. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> -Simmonds had let her rooms to a man -who came surveying. The fact was so -unprecedented that the good woman might -be pardoned for imagining herself an -authority on what gentlemen liked, and -what gentlemen expected, on the strength -of that one experience. Harding confirmed -her in her innocent belief by agreeing to -everything she proposed. Within half an -hour of his arrival he was sitting down to -what the surveyor always took for breakfast, -and the surveyor's favourite dinner -was cooking for him as he walked fast and -far on the first road that presented itself. -He almost reached Littlemere before he -turned, and had to scramble over a hedge, -to avoid what might have been an awkward -meeting with Mr. Masters. The little squire -went by unsuspectingly, though Reynold, -finding himself face to face with a bull in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> -the meadow, nearly jumped back upon -him. Happily however the bull took time -to consider, and before he had made up his -mind whether he liked his visitor or not, -the coast was clear, and the young man -sprang down into the road, and set off on -his way back to Mitchelhurst, where he -arrived just as Mrs. Simmonds was beginning -to look out for him. The surveyor -had ordered rather an early dinner.</p> - -<p>Harding had done his best to check any -gossip about his affairs, but his landlady -was burning with curiosity. She made a -remark about Mr. Hayes as she set the dish -on the table, and her lodger replied that it -certainly was a queer fancy for a lonely man -to live in that great house, and might he -trouble Mrs. Simmonds for a fork? She -supplied the omission with many apologies, -and said that Mr. Hayes was not very <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> -popular in the neighbourhood, she believed.</p> - -<p>"Isn't he?" said Reynold, slicing away. -"Well, all I can say is that I found him a -very hospitable old gentleman. He had -never seen me before, and he invited me -to stay there for three days. Wouldn't -take any denial."</p> - -<p>"Well, to be sure, sir, we can but speak -as we find," said Mrs. Simmonds, handing -the potatoes. "Only, you see, there are -some of us who remember the old family—you'll -excuse me, sir, but it's wonderful -how you favour Mr. John—and it's not the -same, sir, having a stranger there. It's <i>not</i> -like old times."</p> - -<p>"No," said Reynold with a jarring little -laugh. "I should think it was a good -deal better. Thank you, Mrs. Simmonds, -I have all I want."</p> - -<p>And with a nod, which was exactly Mr. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> -John's, he dismissed the old lady.</p> - -<p>She was disconcerted; she did not know -what to make of this young man with the -Rothwell features, who was not gratified by -a respectful allusion to the family. "A -good deal better!" Well, of course, the -Rothwells held themselves very high, and -thought other people were just the dirt -under their feet. There was no pleasing -them with anything you sent in, nothing -was good enough, and they expected you -to stand curtseying and curtseying for their -custom, and to wait for your money till all -the profit was gone. Mr. Hayes paid as soon -as the bill was sent in, and Miss Strange -was a pleasant-spoken young lady. "A -good deal better"—well, no doubt it was.</p> - -<p>And yet the good woman had not been -insincere when she spoke of the old times -with a regretful accent in her voice. She <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> -remembered John Rothwell's father as a -middle-aged gentleman, alert and strong. -Those old times were the times when she -was a rosy-cheeked girl, whom Simmonds -came courting at her father the wheel-wright's, -and not Simmonds only, for she -might have done better if she had chosen. -It was in the good old times that they set -up their little shop, and that their little girl -was born who had been in the churchyard -three-and-twenty years come Christmas. -There were no times now like those before -Mitchelhurst Place was sold, when she -didn't know what rheumatism was, and -there were none of your new-fangled Board -Schools, to teach children to think little of -their elders. It was not to be supposed -that Mrs. Simmonds thought that her stiff -old joints would become flexible again if -the Rothwells came back to the manor-house, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> -but she certainly felt that in their -reign the world went its way with fewer -obstructions and less weariness, and was -more brightly visible without the aid of -spectacles. She had an impression, too, -that the weather was better.</p> - -<p>She straightened herself laboriously after -taking the apple-pie from the oven, and -was horrified to find the crust a little -caught on one side. Having to explain -how this had occurred when she carried it -in, she had no opportunity of continuing -the previous conversation, and the moment -dinner was over Reynold was out again. -The fact was that Mrs. Simmonds's parlour, -which was small and low, and had been -carefully shut up for many months, was -not very attractive to the young man, who -was fresh from the faded stateliness of the -old Place. Besides, he was anxious to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> -keep down importunate thoughts by sheer -weariness, if in no other way.</p> - -<p>He went that afternoon to the Hall, -the dreary old farmhouse which Barbara -had pointed out as the Rothwells' earlier -home, and walked in the sodden pastures -where she picked her cowslips in the spring. -He looked more kindly at the old house, in -spite of the ignoble disorder of its surroundings, -but he lingered longest at the gate -where she had shown him Mitchelhurst, -spread out before him like the Promised -Land. He studied it all in the fading -light, and then, with a farewell glance at -the white far-off front of the Place, he -went down into the village, tired enough -to drop asleep over the fire after tea.</p> - -<p>"To-morrow, the letter," was his last -thought as he lay down.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.<br /> - -<span class="subhead">ONE MORE HOLIDAY.</span></h2> - - -<p>The inevitable morning came, but the -letter did not.</p> - -<p>Harding was first incredulous, then when -a light flashed upon him, he was at once -amused and indignant.</p> - -<p>"So! I kept you waiting till the latest -day, and you are returning the compliment. -I am given to understand that you can take -your time as well as I? That's fair enough, -no doubt, only it seems rather a small sort -of revenge, and, as things have turned out, -it's a nuisance. What is to be done now? -Shall I wait another day for my instructions, -or shall I go up to town at once? I told <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> -him to write here, but, after all, what is -there to say, except, 'Be at the office on -such a day?' Shall I go, or stay?"</p> - -<p>He tossed up, not ill-pleased to decide -his uncle's affairs so airily. The coin -decreed that he should stay.</p> - -<p>"It's just as well," he said to himself. -"I don't want to seem impatient if he isn't."</p> - -<p>But the additional day of idleness proved -very burdensome. He fancied that the -Mitchelhurst gossips watched his every -movement; he felt himself in a false -position; he shut himself up in his little -sitting-room and asked for books. Mrs. -Simmonds brought him all she had, but -she looked upon reading as a penitential -occupation for Sundays, and periods of -affliction, and the volumes were well suited -for the purpose. Harding thrust them -aside. The local paper was nearly a week <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> -old, but he read every word of it.</p> - -<p>"There'll be a new one to-morrow, sir," -said his landlady, delighted to see that he -enjoyed it so much.</p> - -<p>"Thank you, Mrs. Simmonds, but I shall -be far enough away by this time to-morrow," -the young man replied.</p> - -<p>He spent a considerable part of the afternoon -lying on the horse-hair couch, and -staring at the ceiling. A ceiling is not, as -a rule, very interesting to study, and the -only thing that could be said for this one -was that it was conveniently near. Reynold -could examine every smoke-stain at his ease, -and every fly that chanced to stroll across -his range of vision. The first he noticed -made him think of Barbara and Joppa, but -the later comers were simply wearisome. -There is a distressing want of individuality -about flies. Even when one buzzed about <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> -his head, with a fixed determination to -wander awhile upon his forehead, he had -not an idea which fly it was. It seemed to -him, as he lay there, with his arm thrown -up for a pillow, that flies in general were -just one instrument of torture of, say, a -billion-fly power. The afternoon sunshine -and the smouldering fire had wakened more -than he could reckon in the little parlour.</p> - -<p>He would not have cared to confess how -much he was troubled by his uncle's silence. -He had expected to be met rather more -than half-way, instead of which it seemed -that he was to be taught to know his place. -The idea was intolerable, and it haunted -him.</p> - -<p>When Mrs. Simmonds came in with a -tray (the surveyor always took his tea -between five and six), she made a remark -or two about things in general, which <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> -Reynold, turning his lustreless eyes upon -her, endeavoured to receive with a decent -show of interest. When she brought the -tea-pot, she told him that Mr. Hayes had -sent to the Rothwell Arms for a carriage -early that afternoon. "Indeed!" said -Reynold, this time endeavouring to conceal -the interest he felt.</p> - -<p>"What were they going to do?" he -wondered, as he propped his head on his -hand and sipped his tea. Was the old man -taking Barbara away? What did it mean?</p> - -<p>It meant simply that Mr. Hayes had -wearied of his self-imposed seclusion, and -had announced to his niece that he should -drive over to Littlemere and see Masters. -He added that he might not return to -dinner, and that she was not to wait for -him. While Reynold lay on the sofa the -carriage had gone by, with the little man <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> -sitting in it, his head rather more bowed -than usual, planning how he would explain -the quarrel to his friend. "Masters will -understand—he knows how the fellow -behaved the night before," said Mr. Hayes -to himself a score of times. But every time -he said it he felt a little less certain that -Masters would understand exactly as he -wished.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Simmonds, returning after a considerable -interval, told her lodger that the wind -was getting up, and she thought there -was going to be a change in the weather. -She mostly knew, as she informed him, -on account of her rheumatism. Reynold -opened the door for her and her tray, and -then went to the window.</p> - -<p>The moon had risen, the low roofs and -gaunt poplars of Mitchelhurst were black -in its light, and wild wreaths of cloud were <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> -tossed across the sky. It was a sky that -seemed to mean something, to have a mood -and expression of its own. Reynold watched -it for a few minutes, till its vastness made -the little box of a room, where even the -flies had fallen asleep again, insupportably -small. He took his hat and went out.</p> - -<p>He did not care which way he went, if -only it were not in the direction of the -Place. Mr. Hayes, when he charged -Barbara not to go near the gate, had a -sort of fancy that the young fellow might -walk defiantly on the very edge of the -forbidden ground, and peer through the -bars with a white, spiteful face. The girl -acquiesced indifferently. She might not -altogether understand Reynold Harding, -but she knew most certainly that he -would never approach them.</p> - -<p>It chanced that evening that he took a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> -narrow lane which led out of the Littlemere -road. It proved to be a rugged but very -gradual ascent. Presently it led him -through a gate, and, still gently rising, -became a mere cart track across open -fields, where the wind came in sudden, -hurrying gusts over the grey slopes, and -brought undefinable suggestions of hopelessness -and solitude. Reaching the highest -point the wayfarer passed through another -gate, and pursued a level road, bordered -by spaces of unenclosed grass, sometimes -widening almost to a common, sometimes -shrinking to a mere strip between -the white way and the low hedgerows. -Reynold pushed forward, gazing at the -sky. The clouds, torn and driven by the -wind, fled wildly overhead, like shattered -squadrons, and yet rolled up in new unconquered -masses, as if from a gloomy host <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> -encamped on the horizon. The moon, slowly -climbing the heavens, fought her way as a -swimmer fights the waves. Now she would -show a pale face through the blanched -ripples of a misty sea, then would be over-powered -by a black deluge of cloud, which -darkened earth and sky, and swept over -her sunken and scarcely suspected presence. -And then suddenly she would emerge, pearl-white -and pure, from the midst of the fierce -confusion, rising unopposed over a gulf of -shadowy blue. Or yet again she would -glance mockingly from behind a rent veil -of gossamer at the lonely little traveller who -toiled so far below, under the vast arch of -the heavens, and who raised his pre-occupied -eyes to her, from the world of dream and -mystery which he carried with him under -the little arch of his skull. To Harding just -then that inner world seemed more real, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> -stranger, and less trodden, than did the -world without. The billows of cloud, vast -and formless and dark, rolling on high, -were no more than symbols of the undefined -forebodings which gathered blackly in his -soul and changed with every thought. The -wild and restless melancholy of the evening -harmonised so marvellously with his temper, -that he could almost have forgotten its outward -reality, had it not been for the wind -which blew freshly in his face. It did not -seem possible that, when hereafter he came -back to Mitchelhurst, he could walk this -way whenever he pleased.</p> - -<p>Yet he noted landmarks now and then. -Here was a thin row of firs, slim and black, -then a bare stretch of road where he stepped -quickly, his shadow at his side for company, -and then a sturdy oak, with all its brown -leaves astir in a gust, which whispered <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> -hurriedly as he went by. Somewhat further -yet the way grew narrow, dipping down -into a little hollow, where a runnel of clear -water crossed it, glancing over the pebbly -earth. There was a plank at one side, and -Reynold, stepping on it, smelt the water-mint -which clustered at its edge. It seemed, -somehow, as if the night, which uttered his -desolate thoughts in the wind and the flying -clouds, breathed them in that perfume.</p> - -<p>Reynold was one of those who take little -interest, even as children, in stories of -goblins and witches, yet who sympathise -with the mood which gave such legends -birth, something which in its unshapen -darkness and mystery is more impressive -than the strangest vision. Why this inexplicable -mood, with its world-wide suggestiveness, -should have come upon him -that evening, transforming the bit of upland <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> -country through which he walked to a grey -and ghostly region, he could not tell. He -tried to reason with his shadowy presentiments. -He was going to his work the next -day; that very evening he was going back -to the little parlour over the shop; Mrs. -Simmonds would have his supper ready, old -Simmonds would be smoking bad tobacco in -the back room; his walk would lead to -nothing else. Yet he could not convince -himself. He could call up his uncle and -Mrs. Simmonds before his eyes, but they -were grotesque apparitions in his cloudland. -What was it that he was awaiting? Why -did he feel as if the crisis of his fate were -come, as if it would be upon him before -the night were over? "Are we to see it -out together?" he said, looking up at the -moon.</p> - -<p>He hardly knew whether he had uttered <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> -the question aloud or not, and he stopped -short. There was a pool close by, roughly -fenced from the road, and fringed with -ragged bushes on the further side. He sat -down on the rail. "To-morrow," he said -to himself, "nothing can happen before to-morrow." -He took old Mr. Harding's letter -from his pocket, and tried to read it in -the moonlight, but a sudden gust caught -it, and almost tore it out of his hand. He -crushed the flapping paper together, put it -back, and sat gazing at the black pool at -his side, idly wondering whether it were -deep enough to drown a man. It looked -deep, he thought—as deep as the heavens, -and a troubled gleam of moonlight rested -on it every now and then. Harding knew -well that he should never touch his life, yet -he played that night with the fancy that -in one of the darkened moments when the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> -moon was hidden, it would not be difficult -to drop below that shadowy surface, and -effectually end the business, so that when -the bright glance rested there again it -should read nothing. He fancied the moon-beams -travelling swiftly along the road, and -not finding him, while he lay hidden under -the water, with a clump of osiers bending -and quivering above him in the windy -night. "Why couldn't I do it?" he asked -himself. "Why do I go on to meet my -ill-luck? It is coming, I know, to play me -some devil's trick—I feel it in the air, just -as Mrs. Simmonds feels a change of the -weather in her poor bones."</p> - -<p>So, idly jesting, he stooped and tossed a -pebble into the brimming blackness, and as -he did so he pictured to himself the groping -hands, and the ugly strangling fight with -death which the moon might chance to see, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> -if it tore its veil aside too quickly. And, -besides, there was the grim uncertainty of -it. <i>What</i> was under that dusky surface? -"That's as you please to put it, I suppose," -said Reynold, getting to his feet. "Eternity, -or just a little black mud. And, by Jove, -that railing's rather shaky!" He turned -his face towards Mitchelhurst, laughing at -his own folly. "Well, I'll take to-morrow -and its chance of fortune—presentiments -and all?"</p> - -<p>The wind, which had fought against him -as he came, seemed now so impatient to -get him safely back to Mrs. Simmonds, that -it fairly took him by the shoulders and -hurried him along, as if it knew that it -was between nine and ten, and that the -good lady was addicted to early hours. -And perhaps Reynold himself was slightly -ashamed of his moonlit vagary, and not <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> -altogether unwilling to seek the shelter of -that little roof. He ran and walked down -the field path, and saw the glimmering lights -of the village below, small sparks of friendly -welcome in the great night. When, finally, -he turned into the Littlemere road, and was -somewhat sheltered from the wind, he met -a couple of youths, fresh from the "Rothwell -Arms," harmonious in their desire to -sing together, but not in the result of their -efforts. About a hundred yards further he -encountered the Mitchelhurst policeman. -The road was quite populous and homely.</p> - -<p>He had outstripped his forebodings in his -hurried race, and the question whether his -landlady would think that he was very late -for supper was uppermost in his mind. He -opened the door, which was never fastened -till Simmonds bolted it at night, and drew -a breath which gave him a comprehensive <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> -idea of the variety of goods they kept in -stock. With the chilly sweetness of the -night air still upon him, the young man -strode into his room, and confronted Barbara -Strange, who rose from the sofa to meet -him.</p> - -<p>All his misgivings overtook him in a -moment.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.<br /> - -<span class="subhead">MOONSHINE.</span></h2> - - -<p>"Miss Strange!" he exclaimed, amazed.</p> - -<p>"Oh!" cried Barbara, "I thought you -would <i>never</i> come!"</p> - -<p>"You wanted me! You have been waiting -for me! If I had known——" And -while he spoke the strangest thoughts and -possibilities shaped themselves in his brain, -and died away again. If her presence called -them up it also killed them. He saw that -she was frightened. Her lip quivered, and -her eyes looked larger and a little vague. -She was gazing at him through a bright -film of unshed tears.</p> - -<p>"If I had known," he repeated confusedly, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> -as he stepped forward. "What is it?"</p> - -<p>They had not shaken hands in his first -astonishment, and now she still looked up -at him, and his hand dropped unheeded.</p> - -<p>"I don't know what you will say to me," -she began. "I am so very, very sorry—I -felt I must come myself and ask you to -forgive me."</p> - -<p>"<i>I</i> forgive <i>you</i>! Why," said Reynold, -his eyes shining, "it is you who should -forgive!"</p> - -<p>Barbara started, and the hot tears dropped, -and slid over her burning blushes. She -turned away, but too late to hide them. -"What do you mean?" she said. "You -don't know. I haven't told you yet. What -do you suppose I have come for like this? -What do you mean?"</p> - -<p>He drew back as if he were stung.</p> - -<p>"Well, what is it then?"</p> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> - -<p>She threw two letters on the table.</p> - -<p>"Letters? You came with those? Upon -my word Miss Strange, it's very kind——"</p> - -<p>He stopped short, looking from the letters -to her and back again. Barbara shrank -away, drawing herself together, but she -resolutely fixed her eyes upon his face.</p> - -<p>"Why—why—" stammered Harding, -turning as pale as death, and then he -dropped into a chair and began to -laugh.</p> - -<p>The letter that lay nearest to him was -directed "R. Harding, Esq." in his own -handwriting.</p> - -<p>"It is my fault!" cried Barbara. "Tell -me what I have done! It is something -that matters very much! I knew it—I felt -it was, the moment I found them. I came -with them directly—I was so afraid you -might have gone away. Don't laugh! Oh <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> -I know it matters dreadfully!"</p> - -<p>Harding had had time to master himself.</p> - -<p>"On the contrary," he said, "it doesn't -matter at all."</p> - -<p>He threw himself back in his chair, -tilting it carelessly, and looking at Barbara.</p> - -<p>"Doesn't it?" said the girl incredulously. -"Doesn't it really?"</p> - -<p>"Not a bit; why should it? How did it -happen?"</p> - -<p>Since everything was lost, he might as -well hear her talk.</p> - -<p>"It was my fault," Barbara repeated, still -doubtfully. "I told you to put them on -the hall table—it was the day we had those -people to dinner."</p> - -<p>Reynold nodded.</p> - -<p>"I had my apron on, I was busy. I -went out to speak to the gardener, and I -thought I would give them to the boy, so <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> -I put them in my apron pocket, yours and -one of mine, and I never thought of them -again."</p> - -<p>He had balanced his chair very dexterously, -and was still looking at her.</p> - -<p>"And they have been in that little apron -pocket of yours ever since! Dear me, Miss -Strange, I hope yours wasn't an important -letter. I'm sorry for your correspondent."</p> - -<p>"No, mine didn't matter. Mr. Harding, -tell me about yours—tell me the truth! -All the time I have been waiting here—and -I thought you never <i>would</i> come!—I -have felt more and more sure that yours -<i>did</i> matter. I can't tell why, but I am -certain. Let me know the worst, please. -Tell me what I have done!"</p> - -<p>"I don't know why you are so determined -that you must have done something -dreadful. I assure you I'm not in the habit <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> -of writing such terribly important letters -as you seem to suppose."</p> - -<p>Reynold, as he spoke, had been thinking -how strange it was that people should -excite themselves about their plans for the -future. What child's play and chance it -all was! You dreamed, and schemed, and -worked it all out, you made allowance for -everything except what was really going to -happen, and suddenly it was all over, and -there was nothing more to be said or done. -Here, for instance, was Mitchelhurst Place -blown away like a bubble! Possibly, somewhere, -there might be found something in -the shape of a house, a certain quantity -of stone and timber, set on the face of the -earth and called by that name, but had -Reynold been opposite the gate at that -moment he would have looked at it with -indifference. <i>His</i> Mitchelhurst Place, the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> -one he had thought about so much, the -one he meant to give the best years of -his life to win, was, it now appeared, a -house of cards. Barbara and he had been -mightily interested in setting it up, and -really it had been a very lofty and presentable -edifice, till Barbara forgot to put -a letter in the post, and so it all tumbled -down in a minute. It was a pity, certainly.</p> - -<p>"Tell me the truth," said the girl's voice -again, with its soft accent of entreaty.</p> - -<p>"But you won't believe me! I tell -you again, Miss Strange, it doesn't matter -a bit. And again, if you like! And -again!"</p> - -<p>She looked fixedly at him, and stretched -out her hand towards the letters.</p> - -<p>"Very well," she said. "Shall I post -these for you as I go back?"</p> - -<p>He brought down his tilted chair with <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> -sudden emphasis, and sprang up.</p> - -<p>"No!"</p> - -<p>He had lost all, but at least his pride was -safe. His mother and old Mr. Harding -need never learn how nearly they had had -their way. He knew what deadly offence -he had given by the silence which would -be taken for a calculated insult, but he -would a thousand times rather face their -anger than appeal to their pity with a -lame story of a letter delayed. Besides, -it was too late. Old Harding was a man -of his word, the place was filled up, the -chance was gone.</p> - -<p>"No!" cried Reynold.</p> - -<p>"There!" the girl exclaimed. "I knew -it! I saw your face when you looked at the -letters first—and now again! You do not -choose to tell me what I have done. Very -well, why don't you say so at once? You <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> -treat me as if I were a baby!"</p> - -<p>Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth -quivered, she looked childishly ready to -cry.</p> - -<p>"You do not choose to tell me what I -have done." No, why should he? The one -thing he saw clearly was that the mischief -was irreparable; the less said about it, -therefore, the better. There was but one -avenue to fortune and love for him, and it -was closed before his eyes by this night's -revelation. Some men would have set to -work at once to make another, but not -Reynold Harding. He simply accepted the -decree of Fate, and felt that he had half -expected it all the time. And after all, -what <i>had</i> Barbara done? Most likely he -would have failed, even if his letter had -been duly sent. His ill-luck would have -dogged him on his way to wealth. Perhaps <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> -it was more merciful, when, with one sharp -stroke, it spared him the long struggle. -What right had he to find fault with -Barbara, the timid messenger of misfortune? -Was he to answer her brutally—"You have -ruined me!"—and throw the weight of his -failure on the little throbbing heart which -had never been so burdened before? The -very idea was absurd. It was absurd to -look back, absurd to murmur; the dream -of Mitchelhurst was over and done with, -it was not worth a withered leaf. Let it -lie where it had fallen.</p> - -<p>"Miss Strange," he said, "I assure you -you are making too much of this accident. -Regrets are wasted on it. Mine was a business -letter, it is true, but the chances are -that it would have come to nothing. I -hesitated a long while before I wrote it, and -I am not sure it was not a mistake. Think <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> -no more about it."</p> - -<p>"Will you write again?" she persisted.</p> - -<p>"Oh, we shall see. I'm going up to -town to-morrow—I can settle everything -then. I don't think there will be any -occasion to write."</p> - -<p>He realised his utter severance from all -his hopes when he heard himself say that -he was going back to town. The girl who -stood questioning him had kindled a strange -brightness in his life, a light which revealed -her own ripe-lipped, radiant face, and then -with capricious breath had blown it out -again, and left him in darkness and alone. -He had lost her, and yet, by a fantastic -contradiction, she had never been half so -near to him as at that moment. "You -are deceiving me!" she said, sorrowfully. -"Don't think I don't know it! Oh, if -there were anything I could do to make <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> -amends!" And in her pain and pity, and -her certainty that in some unspoken way -she had wronged him more than she could -understand, she unconsciously swayed towards -Reynold with her eyes and lips -uplifted. She wanted to quiet the aching -of her regret. She wanted a channel -through which her over-wrought feelings, -might pour in atoning self-sacrifice.</p> - -<p>He knew that she did not love him, -though she herself was ignorant of her own -heart, but he also knew that he might have -her in his arms if he chose, acquiescent, -remorseful, submissive, with her head upon -his breast. That one moment was his. -Through the fierce throbbing of his pulses -he was oddly conscious of all his surroundings—the -little room which smelt of paraffin -and of unused furniture, the letters lying -on the magenta table-cloth, the slippery <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> -little horse-hair sofa from which Barbara -had risen to meet him; everything was -mean, dreary, and hideous. But he had -only to make one step across the patchwork -rug of red and black, only to ask her to -share that hopeless future of his, and he -might take her to himself in her pliant -grace, and his lips would meet hers!</p> - -<p>He was her master, yet he stood still -drawing his breath deeply, and eyeing the -parti-coloured rug as if it were a yawning -gulf between them. He would not cross it, -he would say no word of love or of reproach -to spoil her after-life, but his soul was bitter -as gall. At that moment he felt himself -strong enough to give up everything, but -he could not be tender. Was she in later -days to remember him vaguely as a poor -sullen fellow whose schemes and talk came -to nothing, who was too helpless to make <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> -his way in the world? Was she, perhaps, -to try to do something for him—to recommend -him, for instance, to some friend who -wanted a tutor for a dull boy? Was she to -give him her little dole of pity and friendship? -No, by Heaven! he would not have -that, when he might have taken herself. -Why should he suffer in silence, and not -inflict one answering touch of pain, if only -that he might feel his power to wound? -She was trying him too cruelly with that -innocent offer of atonement, which meant -so much more than she understood.</p> - -<p>Because he would not speak the "Marry -me, Barbara!" which was at his very -lips, he controlled his voice and asked with -an air of polite inquiry, "What is it that -you so kindly wish to do for me?"</p> - -<p>"What? Oh, I don't know!" she faltered -in confusion. "What <i>can</i> I do? I don't <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> -know. Only if there were anything—if -there ever could be——"</p> - -<p>He looked at her, gravely at first, then -with a smile that deepened slowly. She -met his glance with her appealing eyes, but -she could not meet his smile. Its derision -reached her like a stinging lash, and she -shrank away. "I <i>wish</i> I had never come!" -she said in a low tone. All her sweet -compassionate longing was driven back upon -her heart by his mocking smile, and turned -to something that choked her. "I wish I -hadn't!" she repeated in a stifled voice, -and went towards the door, eager to escape.</p> - -<p>Reynold perceived that he had succeeded -admirably. It seemed unlikely that Barbara -would ever come to him again.</p> - -<p>A sudden roar of wind in the chimney -startled them both, and recalled him to some -consciousness of the outer world. He took <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> -his hat from the table, and held the door for -her to pass.</p> - -<p>"Good-bye," she panted, still with her -eyes averted.</p> - -<p>"I'm coming with you."</p> - -<p>"No, you are not!"</p> - -<p>"Pardon me, but I think I am."</p> - -<p>"No!" Barbara repeated. He smiled, -but followed her. She turned on the stairs -in angry helplessness and faced him. "But -I would rather you didn't!" she exclaimed.</p> - -<p>"Did you come alone?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, and I can go back alone."</p> - -<p>"But Mr. Hayes—what did he say?"</p> - -<p>"He is out, he didn't know. Oh!" with -a terrified glance, "if he should be back -first!"</p> - -<p>Harding unlatched the outer door, and -she flew out into the rushing wind. He -was at her side in a moment. "Take <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> -my arm," he said.</p> - -<p>"I won't!" cried the girl, angrily. "Why -don't you leave me when I ask you?"</p> - -<p>"Because you can't go all through Mitchelhurst -alone this stormy night—and so late," -said Reynold, raising his voice to dominate -an especially furious gust.</p> - -<p>Barbara caught at Mrs. Simmonds's -railings to steady herself. "Thank you!" -she shouted, "it's very kind of you to -remind me that I ought not to be here -at this time of night!" She felt as if her -words were torn out of her mouth and -whirled away. She ended with something -that sounded like a sob, but she herself -hardly knew what it was, or what became -of it.</p> - -<p>"Nonsense!" said Reynold, as if he were -hailing her from an almost hopeless distance. -"You <i>must</i> let me see you safely to the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> -gate." The gust subsided a little. "You -must indeed," he added in a more natural -tone.</p> - -<p>"Will you leave me?" she persisted. -"It's all I ask you!"</p> - -<p>"Very well," he answered, angrily. -"But I suppose Mitchelhurst Street is as -free to me as to you, and I don't see that -you can want more than half of it. Take -whichever side you please, and I'll go the -other."</p> - -<p>"Good night," she said, ignoring this -declaration. He waited only to ascertain -her intention, and then strode across the -way to the further path.</p> - -<p>They walked through the village in this -fashion, two dusky shapes, grotesquely -blown and hustled by the strong wind. A -capricious blast, catching Barbara's dress, -would send her scudding helplessly for a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> -few yards before she could regain her self-control. -The tall figure on the other side -of the road, clutching at his hat, would -quicken his long steps to keep up with her -involuntary increase of speed. When she -contrived to pull herself up he slackened his -pace, timing his movements with shadow-like -accuracy and persistence.</p> - -<p>The clouds were flying in such quick -succession that for some time there was -no decided break through which the moon -might show her face. The heavens were -a vast moving canopy, glimmering with -diffused light, that grew to spectral whiteness -now and again, when the veil was thin -over the hidden orb. Harding blessed the -obscurity which might save Miss Strange -from the wondering comments of Mitchelhurst. -They only met three or four men, -fighting their homeward way against the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> -wind, and, country fashion, keeping the -centre of the road. One of these caught -sight of Reynold, and, staring at him, -shouted a jovial "Good night," to which -the young man, glad to monopolise his -attention, made a courteous reply, while -the slim little figure, on the other side of -the way, stole along in the shadow of the -houses unobserved. Presently they passed -beyond the village street and turned into -the road which led up to the Place, where -the high banks sheltered them a little, and -they did not meet the wind so directly. -Barbara kept to the hedgerow on the left, -Reynold skirted that on the right, and -though the narrower way enforced a rather -closer companionship, they walked with an -air of indifference as serene as the stormy -night permitted.</p> - -<p>When they reached the little slope at the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> -gate, Harding halted. Barbara had to cross -the road, and while she did so he stood -perfectly still, not attempting to lessen the -distance between them by one step. The -wild noise of the blast in the tree tops made -a kind of rushing accompaniment to the -silence. All at once the ragged clouds -parted, and the moon sailed suddenly into -a blue rift. Everything became coldly and -brilliantly distinct, even to the lock of the -wrought-iron gate, towards which Barbara -stretched an ungloved hand. As she touched -it she hesitated.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Harding," she said.</p> - -<p>There was a lull between two gusts, and -the fury which had preceded it made it -seem like an absolute and charmed tranquillity. -Reynold advanced at her summons -with a slightly exaggerated obedience. The -moon was at his back and his black shadow <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> -seemed to hurry before him, to throw itself -at the girl's feet, and then to slip past her -through the iron bars, as if it would creep -into Mitchelhurst Place, and take possession -by stealth.</p> - -<p>"Why did you make me angry?" said -Barbara in a tremulous voice. "Why did -we come through the village in this idiotic -way?"</p> - -<p>"I was under the impression that you -declined my escort," he replied, with conscious -meekness.</p> - -<p>"You make me behave rudely—<i>why</i> do -you? I went to your lodgings to tell you -how sorry I was, and to ask your pardon -for my carelessness, and it seems as if I -went for nothing but to quarrel. Any -one would think so. Perhaps you think -so?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Reynold, smiling, "I don't. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> -And it isn't a very serious quarrel, is it?"</p> - -<p>"Don't sneer at me any more, or you -will make me hateful!" cried Barbara. "I -can't bear it! I will never ask you again -if there is anything I can do—never! You -needn't have shown me how you despised -me: you might have been a little kinder -when I went to you like that!"</p> - -<p>She swallowed down a sob.</p> - -<p>"Really I'm very sorry if anything I -said—" he began.</p> - -<p>"Oh never mind now what you said or -did! I know it, and that's enough. I -won't give you another chance, but I won't -quarrel. It hurts me, it's horrid, it's worse -than Uncle Hayes. Do let us part friends—or—or—something -like friends—not in this miserable way!"</p> - -<p>"With all my heart."</p> - -<p>She took her hand from the gate and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> -turned towards him.</p> - -<p>"Say you forgive me then! For everything!"</p> - -<p>"Ah! that I can't do," Reynold replied, -finding a kind of distorted pleasure in -playing with her earnestness. "I'm not -sure, yet, that there is anything to forgive."</p> - -<p>"Forgive me on the chance!"</p> - -<p>"Oh no, I couldn't presume to do that! -It would be a chance whether <i>you</i> forgave -<i>me</i> afterwards for my impertinence."</p> - -<p>A sudden blast nearly sent her tottering -into his arms. She recovered herself, looked -at him in speechless indignation as if he -had ordered it, pushed open the gate, and -the black tracery of bars swung back into -its place, dividing them.</p> - -<p>Reynold stood where she had left him, -gazing after her. She went a little way up -the drive, and then lingered, half turning <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> -as if she thought some one had called. The -ground on which she stood was dry and -white in the moonshine, and dappled with -fantastic, moving shadows. The little old -trees fought against the wind, swaying their -bare, misshapen arms above her head. The -stone balls on either side of the entrance -gleamed like skulls in the pale light, guarding -the avenue to the sepulchral house, with -its glassy rows of windows. For a moment -the picture was as clear as day, with Barbara -standing in the middle of the road; -then a great wave of stormy cloud rolled -up and overtopped the moon, and in the -dusky confusion she vanished.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br /> - -<span class="subhead">REYNOLD'S REGRET.</span></h2> - - -<p>With the passing of that gleam of moonlight -it seemed to Reynold Harding that -Mitchelhurst Place disappeared finally into -the abyss that waits for all created things. -Where the house, in its curious ghastly -whiteness, had stood a moment earlier, was -now nothing but baffling gloom, and the -very gate vanished into the shadows, as if -there were no need of any substantial -barrier between him and the lost vision. -The scene had closed with dramatic suddenness, -and he felt that the play was -played out, but how long he stood staring -at the dusky curtain he did not know.</p> - -<p>At last he turned, and made his way <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> -down the dim road. The bewildering -obscurity seemed to press upon his sight, -and he quickened his pace to gain the -corner where his glance might rest on the -scattered lamps of Mitchelhurst Street—little -flames shuddering and struggling in -the gale. He had gone about half the -distance to his lodgings, when he saw two -advancing eyes of fire at the end of the -street. Nearer and nearer they came, but, -owing to the clamour of the wind, the noise -of wheels was inaudible till the carriage was -close upon him where he paused on the -sidewalk. Then for a moment there was -a gleam of light upon the road, and in it -appeared, as in a kind of magic-lantern -picture, a sorry-looking grey horse, travelling -reluctantly beyond his stable at the -inn, a shabby driver, buttoned closely -against the wind, with his hat pulled low <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> -on his brows, a flashing of revolving wheels, -and the black silhouette of the Mitchelhurst -fly. Harding looked after it till he saw -the lamp shine for a moment, with sudden -brightness, as the carriage turned, and then -go out. After this fashion was Mr. Hayes, -too, lost in the darkness which had swallowed -everything else, and Reynold's gaze -conveyed a not unkindly farewell.</p> - -<p>The night gathered and deepened in the -village, and the great starless dome bent -its vaulted gloom over the half-dozen lights -which glimmered on cottages and cabbage -plots. Now and again a dog would bark, -or the wind would pass with a wilder wail, -and the sign of the <i>Rothwell Arms</i> would -creak discordantly. The people to whom -that little hollow was the world, lay close -and safe in their houses, wakened, perhaps, -by the gale to hope that no tiles would <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> -fall, and no damage be done in the -gardens, listening drowsily for awhile, -and then turning in their beds to sleep -again.</p> - -<p>It was not till the moon was low in the -west that it broke once more through the -clouds, and, peering in at a small uncurtained -window, revealed the white face -of a man who sat by it, with drooping head -and listless hands. He was not asleep, but -he did not move. With that same glance -the moon espied St. Michael in the lancet -window, sedulously trampling on his little -dragon, while the old clock above his head -recorded the passing of the hours with a -labour of slow strokes. Those two, and -those two only, did the moon see in all -Mitchelhurst, and then vanished again and -left them, till the wind went down, and the -day came slowly over the grey fields, with <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> -a deluge of autumnal rain.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Simmonds was sorry to lose her -lodger, and sorry that the weather should -be so bad, and that he should look so pale. -She busied herself about his breakfast, and -brought him the local paper with the air of -a successful prophet.</p> - -<p>"I told you there'd be another to-day, -sir," she said as she laid it down, "and -here it is!" Reynold briefly acknowledged -the attention, but he never touched it. -"So set as he was upon that other one!" -said Mrs. Simmonds later to her husband.</p> - -<p>Simmonds suggested that he might have -found something that specially interested -him in the other paper, somebody dead -and leaving money, may be, or somebody -mysteriously disappeared, or something—he -looked as if he'd had a shock of some -sort. But Mrs. Simmonds was inclined to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> -think that he was most likely upset by the -thought of his railway journey. She knew -it was all <i>she</i> could do to swallow a bit, if -she were going anywhere, with all her -packing on her mind, and very likely the -gentleman was of the same way of feeling. -As to a shock, he hadn't got any shock out -of the paper, she knew. He might have -had some bad news in the letters Miss -Strange brought him, for he told her with -his own lips that they were very important, -and that was why she came with them -herself.</p> - -<p>"You see, the old gentleman was out," -said Mrs. Simmonds, "so I suppose she -didn't know what to do."</p> - -<p>"I shouldn't think the old gentleman -would be best pleased," said Simmonds.</p> - -<p>The good woman considered for a moment.</p> - -<p>"Well, I sha'n't tell him," she announced <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> -finally.</p> - -<p>Harding drove to the nearest station in -a gig. The rain was not so heavy then, the -downpour had become a persistent drizzle. -Nevertheless the village looked drenched -and dismal enough as he bade it good-bye, -and swung round the corner of the churchyard -wall, where the yellow weeds stood -up in the crevices behind the slant grey -veil, and the great black-plumaged yews -let fall their heavy tears upon the graves. -In another minute a clump of trees hid -the square tower and the leaden roof, and -Mitchelhurst was left behind. But the -young man looked right and left at the -wet hedgerows till they reached a spot -where a ploughed field rose above the bank -on one side, while on the other a deep -bramble-grown ditch divided the road from -the sodden meadows. He fixed his eyes on <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> -that. It was exactly a week that Wednesday -since he first met Barbara Strange.</p> - -<p>Late that afternoon he walked into a dull -room in a dull suburb of London, and a -woman who stood in the window, snipping -the dead fronds from a homesick-looking -fern, turned to meet him. There was no -mistaking the relationship. Allowing for -the differences of sex and age, they were -as like as they could possibly be, except -that in every glance and gesture the woman -showed a fuller and richer life than did the -man. There was something of imperious -grace in her movements which made him -seem awkward, hesitating, and constrained. -She suffered him to touch her cheek with his -lips, but showed no inclination to speak first.</p> - -<p>"Back again, you see," he said, drawing -a chair to the hearth-rug.</p> - -<p>"Yes. I should think you must be wet."</p> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Damp, I suppose."</p> - -<p>He glanced round the room. The flock -paper, the red curtains, the grimy windows, -the smoky fire, had the strange novelty -which the most familiar things will sometimes -put on. The atmosphere was loaded -with acrid fog, and the blackness of the -great city. He raised his foot and warmed -a muddy boot, while his thoughts went -back to the stateliness and airy purity of -the old manor house, where the great logs -cracked and glowed upon the hearths.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Harding came and rested her -elbow on the chimney-piece, looking down -at her son.</p> - -<p>"I left Mitchelhurst this morning," said -he, after a pause.</p> - -<p>"Yes? Well, I suppose you had seen -enough of it."</p> - -<p>"It was time to come home, anyhow," he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> -said.</p> - -<p>"You had business in town?"</p> - -<p>The tone and words would have served -as well for any chance visitor.</p> - -<p>"Yes—naturally."</p> - -<p>He put the other foot to the fire by way -of a change.</p> - -<p>"I did not know," said Mrs. Harding. "I -have nothing to do with your business. It -certainly isn't mine. You are always welcome -to be here as much as you please, but of -course you will attend to your own affairs."</p> - -<p>Reynold made no answer.</p> - -<p>"You are your own master," she continued, -after a short silence. "I have -recognised that for some years. I have -not expected you to go my way."</p> - -<p>"One must go one's own way, I -suppose," said the young man.</p> - -<p>"And if I expected you to show some <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> -slight consideration for me, in taking -the way you have chosen—I was mistaken!"</p> - -<p>He stirred the fire, and replaced the -poker, but did not look at her or speak.</p> - -<p>"You know what I mean?" she -demanded.</p> - -<p>"Perfectly."</p> - -<p>"Reynold, you might have written! -Your uncle's offer deserved a word. I do -not say you might have accepted it, but -you might have refused it courteously. -Was that so much to ask? You have -insulted him wantonly, and he will never -pardon it. After all, he is your father's -brother, and an old man. Reynold, you -should have written!"</p> - -<p>He did not raise his eyes from the -burning coals.</p> - -<p>"Well," he said, "I did propose to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> -write before I went away."</p> - -<p>She winced at the thrust.</p> - -<p>"I was wrong!" she owned, with bitter -passion in her voice. "It would have been -better."</p> - -<p>"As things have turned out," said -Reynold, "I think it would."</p> - -<p>Poor little Barbara! If that angry, -dark-eyed woman had known how near -the fulfilment of her hopes had been, and -lost by how pitiful a chance? But the -secret was safe.</p> - -<p>Kate Harding drew a long breath.</p> - -<p>"Well, I have no more to say about -it. Perhaps it is best that we should -understand each other. You knew how -your silence would wound me; it was -deliberate—it was calculated. Well, it <i>has</i> -wounded me, I don't deny it. But it is -all over now, and you will never wound <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> -me again. Do what you please, now and -always—as you have done."</p> - -<p>He signified his attention sullenly, with -a slight movement of his head.</p> - -<p>"It is all over," she continued. "The -situation is filled up, and nothing would -ever induce Robert Harding to suffer you -to enter his office—not if you offered to -sweep it! He will not trouble you any -more, and, since the matter is ended, let -it never be mentioned between us again."</p> - -<p>It was easy to see that she was, as she -had said, deeply wounded, and there was -a tragical intensity in her speech. Her -son made answer with the same mute -gesture of assent.</p> - -<p>Presently she moved away, and for a -few minutes she busied herself about the -room. She gathered up the leaves she had -cut off, put away two or three things that <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> -were lying about, and then came back to -him.</p> - -<p>"Dinner will be ready at the usual time," -she said, in a cold, everyday voice. "And -then we can talk——of other things."</p> - -<p>"Yes," Reynold answered, with a start, -looking up from his reverie. He had been -thinking of the evening before. When he -went into the little sitting-room after his -walk, and Barbara rose up from the sofa -to meet him, he had been startled, she was -confused and frightened, and they had -forgotten the ordinary greetings. And -then they had talked, he had sat looking -at her, he had stood up and held himself -aloof—<i>how</i> had he done it? Well, it had -been for Barbara's sake. Afterwards they -had gone through Mitchelhurst together. -Together? No, absurdly apart, with the -breadth of the street between them. And <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> -at last they had talked at the gate, and -he had vexed her, and she had hurried -away without a word of farewell. It -seemed to him now that he had never -meant that. It was impossible he could -have meant it. Why, they had never -shaken hands, he had never touched her, -and he remembered that she had no glove -on, he had seen her hand in the moonlight -on the latch of the gate. She had said, -"Let us part friends," he had only to -consent.</p> - -<p>It is well that we cannot recall our -moments of temptation. Reynold had been -able to pain her then with a jest, he had -been strong enough in his bitterness of -heart to let her go without a word, but -now as he sat staring at the fire, idly -clasping his knee, he regretted his strength. -If he could have taken Barbara's hand he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> -would, and the long fingers, loosely knit -together, suddenly tightened at the thought. -A woman's small hand would not have had -much chance of escape from such a clasp -as that.</p> - -<p>But at that moment his mother aroused -him from his musings.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.<br /> - -<span class="subhead">LOVE'S MESSENGER.</span></h2> - - -<p>The first week of December had not gone -by, and already the winter had set in. Mr. -Pryor, as he walked from the vicarage up -the lonely road to Mitchelhurst Place, said -to himself that it was a most unpleasant -afternoon. Of his own free will he would -not have left his fireside, but Destiny had -turned him out, and he went feebly and -heavily along the iron road, feeling as if -Nature were in a mood of freezing malice -and took pleasure in his sufferings. The -air was still, yet it came very keenly to -his pallid face, his feet were cold, the hand -that held his umbrella was remarkably cold, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> -a red-edged manual of prayers and devotional -readings, tucked under his left -arm, showed a tendency to slip, and -altogether Mr. Pryor had a half-numbed -sense that it was not fair that any one -should want him in such weather.</p> - -<p>The sky was grey, a chilly fog narrowed -the horizon, and all the hedges and boughs -in the little frozen landscape were covered -with hoarfrost. It was like a dream of -a dead spring. Every little clump of trees -was an orchard, white with sterile blossoming, -spectral flowers which would vanish -as suddenly as they had come. Every -sound was deadened, till it was almost -startling to come upon a man at work by -the wayside, lopping hoary branches from -the hedge, and flinging them down, with -all their delicate tangle of white sprays, -upon the frosted grass. It was a grim task <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> -to be the only sign of energy in that ghostlike -world; such a task as in an old picture -Death himself might have undertaken. -Happily, however, for good Mr. Pryor's -nerves, it was the face of an ordinary flesh -and blood labourer, with the breath steaming -from his gaping mouth, that was lifted -as he went by.</p> - -<p>The vicar crept, shivering, up the avenue -to the house, which was more than ever -like a great white tomb. He asked the -servant who admitted him how Mr. Hayes -was that afternoon.</p> - -<p>"Much the same, thank you, sir," said -the woman, showing him into the yellow -drawing-room, and putting a piece of wood -on the fire, "I'll tell Miss Strange you are -here."</p> - -<p>He stood miserably on the rug, looking -down into the fender, and squeezing his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> -red-edged book under his arm, till at the -sound of the opening door he turned and -saw Barbara. The girl came forward -quickly, and touched the fumbling fingers -which he held out, as she uttered a word of -greeting.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Hayes is much the same, they tell -me," said the clergyman in a melancholy -voice.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Barbara, "I suppose there -isn't any difference. But I think anyhow -he isn't any worse. Mamma is with him, -and he was taking some beef-tea just now"—Mr. -Pryor nodded grave approval of the -beef-tea—"but he'll be very glad to see you -in a few minutes. Won't you sit down?"</p> - -<p>He sat down, nursing the book, which -had a narrow ribbon hanging out of it.</p> - -<p>"I hope Mrs. Strange is pretty well—as -well as can be expected?" he said, after <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> -a pause. "Not over-fatigued, I trust?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, no; I don't think so," the girl -replied. "Mamma seems very well."</p> - -<p>"Ah, quite so. She bears up, she bears -up. Well, that is what we must all try to -do—to bear up. It is the only thing."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Barbara. She was not quite -sure that she ought to have said that her -mother seemed very well. "Of course it -is a trying time," she added, by way of -softening the possibly indiscreet admission.</p> - -<p>"Certainly, certainly—very trying for -you both," Mr. Pryor agreed. Yet even to -his dull eyes it was apparent that this very -trying time had not dimmed the bright face -opposite. There was a peculiar radiance -and warmth of youth about Barbara that -afternoon, a glow of life which forced itself -on his perception. She did not smile, she <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> -was very quiet, and yet it seemed as if -some new delight, some unspoken hope, -had awakened within her, quickening and -kindling her to the very finger-tips. She -sat demurely in her low chair, with her face -turned towards the window, but there was -a soft flame of colour on her cheek, and a -light in her eyes when she lifted her drooping -lashes. In that great, cold house, -through which the shadow of death was -creeping, she was the incarnation of life and -promise, a curious contrast to her surroundings. -It would hardly have seemed stranger -if suddenly, in the desolate world without, -one had come on a burning bush of pomegranate -flowers among the cold frost-blossoms -of the Mitchelhurst hedges.</p> - -<p>Mr. Pryor felt something of all this. He -did not quite like it. Of course he did not -want to see the girl haggard and weary, -but he was so chilly, as he sat there by the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> -fireside with his book on his knee, that it -seemed to him as if the swift, light pulsations -of youth were hardly proper. He -would have been more at his ease with -Barbara if she had had a slight toothache, -or a cold in her head. He felt it his duty -to depress her a little, quietly, as she sat -there.</p> - -<p>"The hour of Death's approach is a -very solemn one, even for the bystanders," -Mr. Pryor began, after a moment's consideration.</p> - -<p>Barbara said, "Yes it was," with an -almost disconcerting readiness.</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes, and we should endeavour to -profit by it. We should spend it, not only -in regrets for those who are about to be -taken from us, but in thoughts of the -future."</p> - -<p>Barbara's red lips parted in another <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> -"Yes." The future—she was thinking of -it. It was easier to think of it than of the -old man who was dying.</p> - -<p>"Of the future," Mr. Pryor continued, -caressing the smooth leather of his book -with his ungloved hand, and softly pulling -the pendent ribbon, "of the time when we -shall be lying—yes, yes, each one of us—as -our friend is now." He glanced up at the -ceiling, to indicate that he meant Mr. -Hayes, taking his beef-tea in the bed-room -on the first floor.</p> - -<p>The girl said nothing, but looked meditatively -at the folds of her dress, as if she -were in church. It would have been -pleasanter if Mr. Pryor had brought a -funeral sermon out of his table drawer, and -could have gone on without these embarrassing -pauses.</p> - -<p>"When our hour is at hand," he said at <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> -last, "as—as it must be one of these days. -How shall we feel then, Miss Strange?"</p> - -<p>Barbara didn't know.</p> - -<p>"No," said the vicar, "we don't know. -But we must think—we must think. Try -to picture yourself in your uncle's position—what -would your life look to you if you -were lying there now?"</p> - -<p>She looked up with a sudden startled -flash. "I haven't had my life—it would -only look like a beginning," she said with a -vision as of a rose-garlanded doorway to a -vault. "If I were going to die directly I -couldn't feel like Uncle Hayes."</p> - -<p>The passionate speech awoke the clergyman's -instinct of assent. "No, no," he -said, "certainly not. Certainly not." At -that moment a message came: "Would -Mr. Pryor kindly step up-stairs?" and -he went, not altogether sorry to bring his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> -little discourse to a close.</p> - -<p>Barbara, left to herself, sat gazing at the -window, till at last the hinted smile, which -had troubled her companion, betrayed itself -in a tender, changeful curve. "Adrian!" -she said softly, under her breath. "Oh, -how could I? How could I? Adrian! -and I thought you didn't care!"</p> - -<p>She was restless with happiness. She -sprang up, and walked to and fro, too glad -at heart to complain of the walls that held -her, and yet feeling that she needed air and -freedom for her joy. She leaned against -the window, and looked out at the wintry -world, murmuring Adrian's name against -the chilly pane. There was no voice to -give her back her tender speech, yet she -hardly missed it. No praise is so sweet to -a woman as the reproaches she heaps upon -herself for an unjust suspicion of her lover.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> -To defend him to others is a mixture of joy -and pain, but to feel that she has wronged -him, and that to trust him is safer than to -trust her doubts, is a passionate delight.</p> - -<p>This joy had come to Barbara that very -morning. She had been sitting in her -uncle's room, reading a novel by the fireside, -while the old man slept, as she -thought. She softly turned page after page -till a feeble voice broke the silence. -"Where's your mamma?" said Mr. Hayes.</p> - -<p>"Down-stairs, writing letters. Do you -want her?" And Barbara stood ready -to go.</p> - -<p>"No, I don't want her. Writing her -daily bulletins, eh? Well, well. What's -the time? You haven't given me my -medicine."</p> - -<p>"It's very nearly time," said Barbara, -with a glance at the clock. There was a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> -little clinking of bottle and glass, and then -she came to the bedside, and stood looking -down at the wrinkled, fallen face among the -pillows. "Can I help you?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"Wait a bit, can't you?" said the old man.</p> - -<p>She waited, looking aside, yet watching -for the slightest movement on his part. -Her soft young fingers closed round the -half-filled glass, and his dim eyes rested on -them. Presently he raised himself with an -effort, and the girl put another pillow -behind him. He stretched out a trembling, -dingy-white hand, carried the glass to his -lips a little uncertainly, and emptied it.</p> - -<p>She set it down. "Shall I take away -that pillow?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"No—wait."</p> - -<p>Barbara, after a minute, shifted her -position, and stood by the carved post at -the foot of the bed, while her thoughts <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> -went back to her novel. She was not -heartless, she was only young. Her uncle -had never been very much to her, and she -found it as difficult to concentrate her mind -on this melancholy business of sickness and -dissolution as if it were a sermon. And yet -she did sincerely desire to behave properly, -and to feel properly, too, if it could be -managed.</p> - -<p>The little old man rested awhile, sitting -up in his bed. He perceived that the girl's -thoughts were far away. He could keep -her standing there as long as he pleased, a -motionless figure against the faded green -curtains, but he could not narrow her world -to his sick-room. Perhaps for that very -reason he felt a desire to awaken her from -her reverie.</p> - -<p>"How old are you?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Nineteen."</p> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> - -<p>The answer was given with a lifting of -her long lashes. She had not expected any -question about herself.</p> - -<p>"Nineteen?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. At least I shall be nineteen next -month."</p> - -<p>A month more or less made little -difference to Barbara.</p> - -<p>"As much as that?" he said. "Barbara, -perhaps I ought to say something before I -go."</p> - -<p>Her attention was effectually aroused, -and her brilliant gaze rested on the dull, -waxen mask before her. But after a -moment his eyes fell away from hers.</p> - -<p>"I thought I did right," he said.</p> - -<p>"Yes?" Barbara questioned.</p> - -<p>"That young man who came here—what -was his name?"</p> - -<p>"Mr. Harding."</p> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> - -<p>"No, no, no!" he cried irritably. "No! -What made you think of him? The first -one?"</p> - -<p>"Mr. Scarlett?"</p> - -<p>He nodded.</p> - -<p>"But it doesn't matter," he said. "If -you were thinking of the other one it -doesn't matter about Scarlett."</p> - -<p>"What about him?"</p> - -<p>"He wanted to speak to you before he -went away, and I told him to wait. Better -to wait—you were so young, you know."</p> - -<p>"He <i>did</i> want to speak to me!" the girl -exclaimed under her breath.</p> - -<p>"Plenty of time," said Mr. Hayes. -"He's young too. I told him he could -come again to Mitchelhurst if he felt the -same. I thought it was best—I thought it -was best," he repeated, trying to drown a -faint consciousness that to have parted <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> -with Barbara would have upset all his -arrangements.</p> - -<p>"I'm sure you did," she answered soothingly.</p> - -<p>"I know your mother would say it was -best—wouldn't she? Besides, I didn't do -any harm, since you were thinking of the -other one."</p> - -<p>"He was here last," said Barbara.</p> - -<p>"So he was," the sick man answered, -with a flash of his old briskness. "And -girls soon forget."</p> - -<p>Barbara said nothing. What was the -good of protestations? She would never -utter a word against Reynold Harding—never. -And what could she say about -Adrian Scarlett? She had not owned to -herself that she cared for him. If she did—and -she was conscious of strong pulsations, -which flushed her face, and filled her veins <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> -with tingling warmth—the more reason for -silence. She laid a hand on the carved -foliage of the post, and faced the dim figure -propped in the bed. There was something -grotesquely feeble about the little man's -attitude. His face, discoloured and pale, -drooped in the greenish shadow of the -hangings, his unshaven chin rested on his -breast, his parchment hands lay in a little -nerveless heap on the counterpane before -him. One would have said that he was set -up in sport, as children set up dolls and -nine-pins, on purpose to be knocked over.</p> - -<p>"Hadn't you better lie down?" said Barbara, -after considering him for a while. She -wanted to speak tenderly, for the sake of -the strange new gladness which was throbbing -at her heart; yet the facts of sickness -and hopeless decay had never seemed so <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> -distasteful. When he assented, she put her -arm about him with the utmost care, but -she could hardly help shrinking from the -clutch of his chilly fingers on her wrist.</p> - -<p>"Rothwells are a bad lot," he said, "bad -and poor. Scarlett would be a better match. -Some of his people have money."</p> - -<p>The habit of deference to her Uncle -Hayes prevented her from resenting this -speech.</p> - -<p>"Never mind about that, please, uncle," -she said gently.</p> - -<p>"Good family, too," said Mr. Hayes, -indistinctly to himself. "I did it for the -best, as your mamma would see."</p> - -<p>"Never mind about mamma, Uncle -Hayes," said the girl again. "I'm sure you -had better rest a little."</p> - -<p>And when he acquiesced she went back -to her novel, which was all about Adrian <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> -Scarlett. After all, he had not gone off -without a thought of her—he had <i>not</i> -slighted her. Perhaps she was too young, -and at any rate she could not be angry -with her uncle since he had told her of -Adrian's love. She had a right to think -of him as Adrian, surely, if he loved her. -So he had been sent away—where? Perhaps -he would see somebody else, somebody -better and more beautiful, and she would -be forgotten. Well!—Barbara's eyes were -fixed intently on the page—even if he did -forget her, it might break her heart, but she -need not be ashamed that she had thought -of him, since she held the happy certainty -that he had thought of her. Happen what -might in his after life, he had loved her -once—he had!—he had! And she had -feared that he had only laughed at her, she -had thought that he might be heartless—Oh -how was it possible that she could have <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> -been so wickedly unjust! She deserved -that he should never come back to her.</p> - -<p>It was an incongruous business altogether. -It was as if a breath from a burial vault -had quickened the faint flame in Barbara's -heart to sudden splendour, for if old Hayes -had actually been the mummy he very much -resembled, he could not have been more -remote from any comprehension of the -message which he had delivered. His lips -had relaxed in utter feebleness, and the -secret had escaped. He did not see the -look which flashed into the girl's eyes, and -when Mrs. Strange, who might have been -more observant, came to take her place by -the bedside, Barbara stole softly away, -hanging her head in the consciousness of -those flushed cheeks, which seemed too like -holiday wear for such a melancholy time. -Her mother might have been surprised, for <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> -she had been a little uneasy, fancying -that the girl looked sad. Barbara was but -a young thing, and had been left too long -shut up with but dismal company.</p> - -<p>And, if Mrs. Strange had only known it, -the poor little girl had been her own most -dismal company. From the time that Reynold -Harding went away she had been -restless, frightened, and miserable. When -the exaltation of that evening had passed, -a sudden terror at the thought of her own -daring overtook her. She was not only -afraid of her uncle's anger, but doubtful -whether she had not really committed an -unpardonable sin against the social law. -When she hurried to Harding with the -letters, she had somehow vaguely believed -that he would shelter her, that he would -stand by her if she were blamed. And -when he had played with her, refused to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> -trust her, and vanished into the night -with a mocking smile, leaving her utterly -alone, she had felt absurdly desolate. At -first she had waited, in sickening apprehension, -for her uncle to hear of her visit to -Mr. Harding. Fate, however, seemed whimsically -inclined to protect her. First there -was the storm of rain which prevented a -meeting with all the gossips of Mitchelhurst -at the Penny Reading. Then, a day or -two later, came Mr. Hayes' accident—a -mere slip on the stairs, it was supposed, -till the doctor hinted at something in the -nature of a fit. Barbara saw that detection -was postponed, but still she felt that the -sword hung over her head, and night after -night she tossed in an agony of doubt. -Had she really done anything very dreadful? -She recalled Mr. Harding's ambiguous words -and glances—did they mean that he thought <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> -lightly of a girl who would go to him as she -had done? Over and over again she asked -the useless questions—Did they mean that?—Did -they not?—-What <i>did</i> they mean? -And leaving his meaning out of the matter, -what would other people say? Suppose she -went and told them—ah! but how and what -would she tell them? She might say, "I -found I hadn't posted Mr. Harding's letters, -so I took them to him at once: wasn't -that the best thing to do?" How right and -reasonable it sounded! But if she said, -"I went secretly to a man's lodgings at -night——" at the mere thought a blush -passed over her like a scorching wave of fire. -What would her mother say?</p> - -<p>Even in her misery she was childish -enough to wince at the thought of her -sisters at home. She had been proud to be -mistress of a house while they were still in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> -the school-room, and the idea that she had -been wanting in dignity, perhaps even in -modesty, and that she might be ostentatiously -controlled and watched, by way of -punishment, was intolerable to her. To be -humiliated before Louisa and Hetty—how -could she endure it? They were not ill-natured, -but they had a little resented her -advancement, and Barbara, as she lay in -her great over-shadowing bed, could fancy -all the out-spoken comments and questionings -in the roomy attic where the three -used to sleep. She did not want to go back -to the Devonshire vicarage, and yet Mitchelhurst -was fast becoming hateful to her. -The pictures on the walls gazed at her -with Reynold's eyes, his presence haunted -the house from which he had been banished. -What was the wrong that she had done -him? She did not know, and the uncertainty <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> -seemed to mock her as he had mocked -her that night. The poor child said to -herself quite seriously that he had taken -away all her youth and happiness. She -fancied that she felt old and weary as the -days went by, fretting her simple heart with -unacknowledged fear.</p> - -<p>And now suddenly came the message -of Adrian's love, and lifted her above all her -dreary little troubles. What did it matter -that it was uttered by those dry, bloodless -lips, which stumbled over the blissful words? -What did anything matter since Adrian -cared for her, and life was all to come? -Why had she tormented herself about -Reynold Harding! <i>Reynold Harding!</i> He -was utterly insignificant, he was nobody! -She could tell Adrian about that expedition -of hers, it was so unimportant, so trivial, -that he could not be jealous; he could not <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> -mind. Adrian's jealousy! There was something -delightful, even in that terrible possibility. -But he would not be jealous, -everything was warm, and glad, and full -of sunshine when Adrian was there.</p> - -<p>She resented Mr. Pryor's professional allusions -to the uncertainty of life. There are -moments so perfect that they ought not to -be degraded by thoughts of disease and -death, ought not to be measured or weighed -in any way whatever. Barbara felt this, -and she thrust aside the clergyman's lecture -as soon as he left the room. Let him talk -of such things to Uncle Hayes. As for her, -she lingered at the window, thinking of her -newly-found happiness, while she gazed at -the hoary fields, with their black boundaries -of railing or leafless hedge, till a faint pink -flush crept over the pale sky, as if it were -softly suffused with her overflowing joy. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> -Mitchelhurst Place, of which Harding had -dreamed so tenderly a few months earlier, as -a home for himself and his love, was to the -eager girl at that moment only a charnel-house, -full of death and clinging memories, -from which she panted to escape. It was -true that she had first met Adrian Scarlett -there, but she had the whole world in which -to meet him again. "And he will always -know where to find me," she said to herself -with a touch of practical common sense in -the midst of her rapture. "He can look out -papa's name in the Clergy List, any day."</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br /> - -<span class="subhead">A PERPLEXING REFLECTION.</span></h2> - - -<p>The April sun was shining into two -pleasant sitting-rooms, only divided by a -partially drawn curtain. Their long windows -opened on a wide gravel walk. Beyond -this lay a garden, bright with the airy, -leafless charm of spring. The grass was -grey-green as yet, the borders brown earth, -but there were lines and patches of gay -spring flowers, and a blithe activity of birds, -while the white clouds floated far away in -the breezy sky.</p> - -<p>Adrian Scarlett, who was a guest in the -house, came slowly sauntering along one of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> -the sunshiny paths, between the yellow -daffodils, with eyes intent on a handful of -printed leaves. Now and again he stopped -short, trying a different reading of a line, -or twisting his little pointed beard with -white fingers, while he questioned some -doubtful harmony of syllables. Once he -took a pencil from his pocket, and with -indignant amusement marked a misprint. -After each of these pauses he resumed his -dreamy progress, unconscious of any wider -horizon than the margin of his page.</p> - -<p>Presently his loitering walk brought him -to one of the tall, shining windows, and -thrusting the little bundle of proofs into -his pocket, he unfastened it and stepped in. -He found the room untenanted, except by two -or three flies, which buzzed in the -sunny panes as if summer time had come. -A piano stood open, with some music lying <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> -on it, and the young man sat down with his -back to the curtained opening, began to -play, and amused himself for a while in -an agreeably discursive fashion. But after -a time he felt that he was not alone. The -conviction stole upon him gradually, though, -as far as he knew, there had been no sound -in the further room, and he had previously -believed that everybody was out. He -glanced over his shoulder more than once, -but saw nothing.</p> - -<p>"Shall I go and look?" he asked himself. -"But it may be somebody I don't know, -and don't want to know. Suppose it should -be a housemaid come to be hired, and -waiting till Mrs. Wilton comes in. What -should I say to the housemaid? Or, by -the way, the parson said something about -Easter offerings yesterday, perhaps this is -the clerk or somebody come for them. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> -Perhaps if I go in he'll ask me for an -Easter offering. I think I won't risk it. -Shall I go into the garden again?"</p> - -<p>While he debated the question, he went -on playing, feeling that the music justified -an apparent unconsciousness of the invisible -companionship. The sunshine lighted up -the reddish golden tint of his hair and -moustache, and the warm flesh colours of -his face. Presently his wandering fingers -slackened on the keys, and then after a -momentary pause of recollection he struck -the first notes of a simple air, and played -it, with his head thrown back and a smile -on his lips.</p> - -<p>Near him an old-fashioned mirror hung, -a little slanted, on the wall, and as his -roving eyes fell on it, a beardless, sharply-cut -face appeared in its shadows, motionless -and pale, gazing out of the heavy frame <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> -with a singular look of eagerness.</p> - -<p>Adrian started, but his surprise was so -quickly mastered that it was hardly perceptible, -and he continued as if nothing had -happened, apparently suffering his glances -to wander as before, though in reality he -watched the dark eyes and sullen brows -bent on him from the wall. The face -appearing so picturesquely, interested him, -and after a moment the interest deepened. -As he had before become gradually conscious -of the man's presence, so now did -a certainty steal over him that he was -somehow familiar with the features in the -mirror.</p> - -<p>The stranger was evidently standing where -he might see and not be seen, and he leant -on a high-backed chair so that he was -partially hidden.</p> - -<p>"Who the deuce is he? and where have <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> -I seen him? and what does he want here?" -said Scarlett to himself, continuing to play -the tune which had evoked the apparition. -"He doesn't look as if he went round for -Easter offerings. Can't want to tune the -piano, or why didn't he begin before I came -in? Hope he isn't an escaped lunatic—there's -something queer and fixed about his -eyes; perhaps I had better soothe him with -a softer strain. By Jove! I <i>have</i> seen him -somewhere, and uncommonly good-looking -he is, too! How can I have forgotten -him? He isn't the sort of man to forget. -He doesn't look quite modern, somehow, -with his full, dark hair, and his beardless -face; or, rather, I <i>feel</i> as if he were not -quite modern—but why?"</p> - -<p>Adrian glided into the accompaniment to -an old song, and sang a quaint verse or -two softly to himself. The face in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> -mirror relaxed a little. After a moment -the man straightened himself, drew back, -and vanished. Adrian finished his song, -and then, in the silence that ensued, a -slight movement was audible, enough to -warrant his entering the further room, as -if he had just suspected the presence of a -visitor.</p> - -<p>The man of the mirror was sitting in an -arm-chair, with a book in his hand. He -looked up a little hesitatingly and awkwardly, -as if he were doubtful whether to -rise or not. Adrian hastened to apologise -for his musical performance.</p> - -<p>"I had no idea there was any one -here," he said. "I hope I didn't disturb -you?"</p> - -<p>"Not at all," said the stranger, glancing -at the book he held, and furtively reversing -it. "An enviable talent," he added, with <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> -an evident effort.</p> - -<p>"For oneself, perhaps," answered Scarlett. -"But I'm not sure it is desirable in a next-door -neighbour."</p> - -<p>He was still trying to identify his companion. -The voice, unmusical and almost -harsh, did not help him in the least, and, -oddly enough, now that they were actually -face to face, he was less absolutely certain -that he ought to recognise the man. "It -may be only a likeness to somebody I -know," he reflected. "But to whom, then? -And why does he look at me like that? -<i>He</i> seems to think he knows <i>me</i>!"</p> - -<p>"I hope you'll go on if you feel inclined," -said the stranger.</p> - -<p>Adrian shook his head.</p> - -<p>"Thank you, but I think I've made about -noise enough for one morning."</p> - -<p>He took up the paper and skimmed a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> -column or two. Presently he looked from -behind it, and their eyes met.</p> - -<p>"I can't help thinking," he said, "that -we have met before somewhere, haven't -we? I don't know where, but I have an -idea that your memory is better than -mine."</p> - -<p>The other was obviously taken by surprise.</p> - -<p>"No," he said, drawing back and frowning. -"No—in fact I'm sure we haven't -met—at least not to my knowledge. My -name is Harding."</p> - -<p>Scarlett owned that the name conveyed -nothing to his mind, but when in return he -mentioned his own, he was certain that he -caught a flash of recognition in the other's -eyes. "He expected that," he soliloquised, -as he picked up his paper again. "Here is -a mystery! Deuce take the fellow—why -did he stare at me so? He isn't as handsome <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> -as I thought he was in the glass—he's -ill-tempered and awkward; it isn't a -pleasant face, though of course the features -are good. He might make a good picture—and, -by Jove! that's what he was—a -picture! and I didn't know him out of his -frame! I wonder whether it's a chance -resemblance, or whether——"</p> - -<p>"Were you ever at a place called Mitchelhurst?" -he asked, abruptly.</p> - -<p>The blood mounted to Harding's face.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said.</p> - -<p>"Then," said Adrian, "you must surely -be some connection of the family at the -old Place—the <i>old</i> family at the old Place, -I mean. I have made out the likeness -that puzzled me. There is a picture -there——"</p> - -<p>"I am connected with the family," said -Harding, "on my mother's side. It isn't <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> -much to boast of——"</p> - -<p>"If you come to that," Scarlett answered -lightly, "what is? But I'll confess—I dare -say I ought to be ashamed of myself—but -I'll confess that I <i>do</i> care about such things. -I don't want to boast, but I would rather -my ancestors were gentlemen, than that -they were butchers and bakers and—well, -the candlestick-makers might be decorative -artists in their way, and so a trifle -better."</p> - -<p>Harding scowled, but did not speak.</p> - -<p>"You don't agree with me," Adrian went -on, with his pleasant smile. "Well, you -can afford to scorn the pride of long descent -if you choose. And, mind you, though I -prefer the gentleman, I dare say the trades-man -might be more valuable to the community -at large!"</p> - -<p>"I hope so," said Harding with a sneer. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> -"My grandfather was a pork-butcher."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" exclaimed Adrian, blankly. "You -combine both, certainly!" He was decidedly -taken aback by the announcement, as the -other had intended, but he recovered himself -first. It was Harding who looked -sullen and ill at ease after the revelation -into which he had been betrayed, as if -his grandfather had somehow recoiled upon -him, and knocked him down.</p> - -<p>Young Scarlett felt that he could not -get up and go away the moment the pork-butcher -was introduced, though he half -regretted that he had come from the piano -to talk to his sulky descendant. "Well, -you get your looks from your ancestors at -Mitchelhurst," he said; "it's quite wonderful. -I studied those portraits a good deal, -and there's one on the right-hand side of -the fire-place in the yellow drawing-room, as <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> -they call it—do you know the house well?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, well enough. Yes, I know Anthony -Rothwell's picture."</p> - -<p>"It might be yours," said Adrian.</p> - -<p>Reynold's only answer was a doubtful -"Hm!"</p> - -<p>"A fine old house!" Scarlett remarked, -as he rose from his chair. If his companion -intended to treat him to such curt, half-hostile -speeches, he would leave him alone, -and ask Mrs. Wilton, or one of the girls, -about him, later. He might satisfy his -curiosity so, more pleasantly.</p> - -<p>But, "A fine old house!" Harding repeated. -"Yes, a fine, dreary, chilly, decaying, -melancholy old house." He leant back -in his chair and looked up at Scarlett, "Did -you ever see a more hopeless place in all -your life?"</p> - -<p>"Come! Not so bad as that!"</p> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Well, it seems to me that there is no -hope about it," Reynold persisted; "no -hope at all. A ghastly nightmare of a -house. Why doesn't somebody pull it -down!"</p> - -<p>"You must have seen it under unfavourable -circumstances."</p> - -<p>"Very likely. I was there last October. -It might be better in the summer-time."</p> - -<p>"You stayed there?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, a few days."</p> - -<p>"Did they tell you I had been?" Scarlett -asked, impulsively. "Did they speak of -me—Mr. Hayes, and—Miss Strange?"</p> - -<p>The men looked at each other as the -name was spoken, Reynold's dark gaze -crossing the bright grey-blue gleam of -Adrian's glance. "They said something of -a Mr. Scarlett who had been there—yes."</p> - -<p>"And they were well, I hope?"</p> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Well enough—then."</p> - -<p>"Then?" cried Adrian. "Then! Why, -what has happened since?"</p> - -<p>"Didn't you know old Hayes was dead?"</p> - -<p>The young man drew a long breath. -"No, I didn't!"</p> - -<p>"Died just a week before Christmas. -The old house is shut up."</p> - -<p>Adrian was silent for a moment. "Poor -old fellow!" he said at last. "I'm very -sorry to hear it. And the house shut up—of -course Miss Strange would go back to -her people in Devonshire." Reynold looked -at him silently. "I wonder who will take -the old Place!" said Adrian. "If I were -rich—" Their glances met once more, and -he stopped short, and strolled towards the -window.</p> - -<p>"A castle in the air," he said, presently. -"I don't suppose I shall ever see Mitchelhurst <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> -again, since the poor old gentleman -is gone. But I shall always remember the -place. Not for its beauty, precisely. I -know when I went there first I was surprised -that he should care to live in a -corner of that great white pile. Something -rather sepulchral about it. Did you ever -notice it by moonlight?"</p> - -<p>Reynold Harding said, Yes, he had.</p> - -<p>"I recollect an almost startling effect -one night," Scarlett continued. "And the -avenue too—that queer avenue—gnarled -boughs, with thin foliage quivering in the -wind, and glimpses of summer sky shining -through. I think if I were a painter I -would make a picture of those trees."</p> - -<p>There <i>was</i> a picture of them, stripped of -their leaves, and wrestling with an October -gale, before the eyes of the man to whom -he spoke. "They might be worth painting," <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> -he said. "I suppose they weren't -worth cutting down. If they had been, I -fancy there wouldn't be any avenue left."</p> - -<p>"I suppose not. Well, anyhow I'm glad -it was spared. There's an individuality -about the place—melancholy it may be, -perhaps dreary, as you say, but it isn't -commonplace, so it misses the worst dreariness -of all." He recurred to his first idea. -"I wonder who will live there now poor -old Hayes is dead."</p> - -<p>"Rats," said Reynold. "And perhaps -an old man and his wife, to take care of it."</p> - -<p>Scarlett stood, with a shadow on his -pleasant face. He had meant to go back to -Mitchelhurst quite early in the summer, and -he slipped a hand into his pocket, and -fingered the little bundle of printed leaves -which had played a part in his day-dream. -He had counted on a welcome from the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> -white-haired old gentleman, whose whims -and oddities he understood and did not -dislike, and he had waited contentedly -enough till the time should come. In fact, -he had found plenty to do that winter, -what with Christmas visits, and the preparation -of his poems for the press. As -Adrian looked back, he realised that it had -been a very agreeable winter, and that it -had slipped away very quickly. The -thought of Mitchelhurst had been there -through it all, but, to tell the truth, it had -not been very prominent. He would have -spoken to Barbara in the autumn, if he had -been left to himself, yet he had recognised -the wisdom of the old man's prohibition, -he had enjoyed the pathos of that unspoken -farewell, and the sonnet which he touched -and retouched with dainty grieving, and -he had looked forward, very happily, to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> -the end of his probation. Barbara, who -was certainly very young, was growing a -little older while he waltzed, and sang, and -polished his rhymes, and made new friends -wherever he went. Adrian had too much -honesty to pretend to himself that he had -been broken-hearted in consequence of their -separation. He had not even felt uneasy, -for, without being boastful, he had been -very frankly and simply sure of the end -of his love-story. He knew Barbara liked -him.</p> - -<p>And now it seemed that his testy little -white-haired friend had gone out of the -great old house into a smaller dwelling-place, -and he had been reckoning on a dead -man's welcome. A welcome—to what? To -the cold clay of Mitchelhurst churchyard? -The week before Christmas—Scarlett remembered -that he had been very busy the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> -week before Christmas, helping in some -theatricals at a country house. He had -been called, and called again at the end -of the performance. And just then, at -Mitchelhurst, the curtain had fallen for -ever on the little part which Mr. Hayes -had played, and Barbara had looked on -its black mystery.</p> - -<p>He bit his lip impatiently. There had -been no harm in the theatricals, just the -usual joking and intimacy among the actors -behind the scenes, and the usual love-making -and embraces on the stage. Adrian's conscience -was clear enough, and yet the -recollection of the girl who played the -heroine (painted and powdered a little more -than was absolutely necessary, for the mere -pleasure of painting and powdering, as is -the way with amateurs), came back to him -with unpleasant distinctness. He could see <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> -her face, close to his own, as he remembered -it on the hot little gaslit stage, in their -great reconciliation scene, the scene that -was always followed by a burst of applause. -Everybody had admired his very becoming -dress, and Scarlett himself had been rather -proud of it. But now in a freak of his -vivid imagination, he pictured the masquerading -figure that he was, all showy -pretence, with a head full of cues and inflated -speeches, set down suddenly in the -wintry loneliness of Mitchelhurst Place, and -passing along the corridors to the threshold -of the dead man's room, to see Barbara -turn with startled eyes in the midst of -the shadows. God! how pitiful and incongruous -was that frippery, as he saw it in -his fancy, brought thus into the presence of -the last reality!</p> - -<p>And Barbara, had she wondered at his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> -silence during all these months? Never -one word of regret for the old man who -had been kind to him! "I wouldn't -have had it happen for anything!" he said -to himself. "What has she thought of -me?"</p> - -<p>Harding, with eyelids slightly drooping, -was watching him, and Scarlett suddenly -became aware of the fact.</p> - -<p>"No, I suppose nobody is likely to take -the old house," he said hurriedly. "I used -to think it must be dull for Miss Strange, -shut up there with nobody but her uncle."</p> - -<p>"I should say it was."</p> - -<p>"Well, Devonshire's a nice county, not -that I know much of it. What part of -Devonshire do the Stranges live in—do you -know?"</p> - -<p>"North Devon," Reynold Harding answered, -and then added, half reluctantly, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> -"Sandmoor, near Ilfracombe."</p> - -<p>"Ah, it isn't a part I know at all," -said Adrian aloud, and to himself he -repeated "Sandmoor, near Ilfracombe."</p> - -<p>At that moment the door opened, and -one of the daughters of the house came -in. "Oh, Mr. Harding!" she exclaimed, -advancing, and shaking hands in a quick, -careless fashion, "I'm afraid you've been -kept waiting a long while."</p> - -<p>"It doesn't matter," said Harding, standing -very stiffly. "Is Guy ready now, Miss -Wilton?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, he's waiting in the hall. Bob got -him away to the stables, and I didn't know -he was there till just now: you know what -those boys are when they get together. I -thought Guy had <i>better</i> wait in the hall, for -I'm afraid he's not as clean as he might be."</p> - -<p>"It doesn't matter," Harding replied <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> -again. "He very seldom is."</p> - -<p>"I did try to brush him," said the girl -good-humouredly, "but I didn't do much -good."</p> - -<p>"Wanted something a good deal more -thorough, no doubt," Adrian suggested.</p> - -<p>"I hope he delivered his message?" -Harding inquired. "It is his birthday -to-morrow, and his father is going to take -him for the day to the seaside. He was to -ask if your brother would go with him."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Bob will be delighted, I'm sure," -said Miss Wilton. "I should think <i>you</i> -would enjoy the holiday, Mr. Harding, you -must be thankful to get rid of your charge -now and then."</p> - -<p>Scarlett, sitting on the end of the sofa, -saw Harding's face darken with displeasure. -"It makes very little difference, thank you," -said the tutor coldly. "I think I'll go and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> -find Guy now." And he bowed himself -out of the room in his sullen fashion. The -girl looked after him, and then turned to -Adrian and laughed.</p> - -<p>"Aren't we dignified?" she said. "What -did I say to make him so cross? I didn't -mean any harm."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I don't know—I don't think you -said anything very dreadful. Who is -Guy?"</p> - -<p>"Guy Robinson. His father has no end -of money, Jones and Robinson the builders, -you know, who are always getting big -contracts for things in the newspapers—you -see their names for ever. Old Robinson -has bought the Priory, so they are neighbours -of ours. Guy is twelve or thirteen, -the only boy, and they won't send him to -school."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Harding is his tutor?"</p> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> - -<p>Miss Wilton nodded.</p> - -<p>"I shouldn't much fancy him for mine," -said Scarlett reflectively. "I'm rather -inclined to pity Master Guy."</p> - -<p>"You needn't," the girl made answer, -glancing shrewdly. "I think Mr. Harding -is there under false pretences."</p> - -<p>"False pretences?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. I believe they think he is stern, -and will keep Guy in order, and my private -conviction is that he does nothing of the -kind. Nobody <i>could</i> keep Guy in order, -without perpetual battles, and Mr. Robinson -always ends the battles, by dismissing the -tutor. I never hear of any battles with Mr. -Harding."</p> - -<p>"I see. You think he spoils the boy."</p> - -<p>"Spoils him? Well, I think that in -his supreme contempt for Guy and all the -Robinsons, he just takes care that he doesn't <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> -drown himself, or blow himself up with -gunpowder, or break his neck, and I don't -believe he troubles himself any further. I -wonder what made the boy want to go to -the seaside."</p> - -<p>"How far is it?"</p> - -<p>"Well, about thirty miles if they go -to Salthaven. There's a railway—I should -think old Robinson will have a special. -Bob will have a great deal too much to eat -and drink, and he'll be ill the day after. -And if he and Guy can think of any -senseless mischief, they are sure to be up -to it, and the old man will swagger and -pay for the damage. Boys will be boys," -said Miss Wilton, with pompous intonation.</p> - -<p>Adrian laughed. "Perhaps Mr. Harding -will go too."</p> - -<p>"Oh no! I know he won't."</p> - -<p>"How do you know?" </p> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Mr. Robinson won't take him. My -belief is that he's rather afraid of Mr. -Harding. Oh! there he goes with Guy, -out by the garden way."</p> - -<p>Scarlett looked over her shoulder. "What -a handsome fellow he is!"</p> - -<p>"Handsome?" Miss Wilton turned her -head, and looked doubtfully at her companion.</p> - -<p>"Yes. Don't you think so?"</p> - -<p>"N-no. It never occurred to me. Do -you mean it really, or are you laughing?"</p> - -<p>"Of course I mean it. Didn't you ever -look at him?"</p> - -<p>"Why yes, often."</p> - -<p>"Well, then?"</p> - -<p>"I suppose his features are good, when -one comes to think about them," said the -girl, with a dubious expression in her eyes. -"Yes, I suppose they are."</p> - -<p>"I wish mine were anything like as <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> -good," said Scarlett, with dispassionate -candour.</p> - -<p>"You wish yours——" Miss Wilton -began, and ended with an amazed and -incredulous laugh which was exceedingly -flattering. It was so evidently genuine.</p> - -<p>"I don't think you half believe me now," -he said. "But I assure you, if you were -to ask an artist he would tell you——"</p> - -<p>"An artist? Oh, I dare say an artist -might say so. But I don't believe a <i>woman</i> -would say that Mr. Harding was good-looking."</p> - -<p>"How if <i>she</i> were an artist?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, then she wouldn't count."</p> - -<p>"But why wouldn't a woman think so?"</p> - -<p>She paused to consider. "I don't know," -she said, "and yet I do mean it, somehow. -He may be handsome, but he doesn't seem -like it. I think a woman would want him <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> -to seem as well as to be."</p> - -<p>"Do you mean that she wouldn't admire -him unless he gave himself airs? That's -not very complimentary to the woman, you -know."</p> - -<p>Miss Wilton shook her head. "I don't -mean that. He might not think about -himself at all—I should like him all the -better." She stood for a minute with her -eyes raised to Adrian's, yet was plainly -looking back at the image of Reynold -Harding which she had called up for the -purpose of analysis. At last, "He isn't a bit -unconscious!" she exclaimed. "He is the -<i>most</i> self-conscious man I know. I believe -he is <i>always</i> thinking about himself!"</p> - -<p>"If he is," said Scarlett, "as far as I -could judge I should say he didn't enjoy it -much." -"That's it!" she said. "He doesn't find <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> -himself attractive, and so—no more do we. -<i>Isn't</i> that it?"</p> - -<p>He smiled. "There's something in the -idea as far as it goes. But it doesn't alter -his features, you know."</p> - -<p>"Of course not. But we don't look at -them."</p> - -<p>Adrian stood, pulling his moustache, and -still smiling. He was not afraid, yet he -found it rather pleasant to be told that this -picturesque tutor, who had been shut up in -Mitchelhurst Place with Barbara, was not -the kind of man to take a woman's fancy. -It was pleasant, but of course it did not -mean much. Molly Wilton might be perfectly -right, and yet it would not mean -much. It is easy to lay down general -rules about women, and very clever rules -they often are. The mistake is, in applying -these admirable theories to any one <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> -particular woman—she is certain to be an -exception. Scarlett, while he listened to -his companion, did not forget that there -are always women enough to supply a -formidable minority.</p> - -<p>"I say," Miss Wilton exclaimed, with a -real kindling of interest in her face, "I'll -just go and take off my hat, and then we -might try over that duet, you know."</p> - -<p>To this he readily assented, but when she -left the room he lingered by the window, -and presently ejaculated "Poor devil!" -It is hardly necessary to say that he was -not thinking of Molly Wilton, who assuredly -was neither angel nor devil, but a bright, -wholesome, rather substantial young woman.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br /> - -<span class="subhead">TWO GLANCES.</span></h2> - - -<p>After all it was not Molly Wilton who -first came into the room where Adrian -waited for the duet, but her elder sister, -Amy. Each sister had her recognised province, -in which she reigned supreme. Amy -was the beauty of the family, and had a -taste for poetry; Molly was musical and -lively. This arrangement worked perfectly, -and Molly admired her sister's charms, and -her poetical sympathies, without a trace -of jealousy, feeling quite sure that justice -would be done to her if there were any -question of music or repartee.</p> - -<p>Adrian was not looking at his proofs <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> -when Miss Wilton came in. He was sitting -on the sofa, with his legs stretched out -before him, gazing into space, and thinking -of Sandmoor, near Ilfracombe. It was absolutely -necessary that he should put himself -into communication with that place, but -how was it to be done? Should he write -that day, or should he go the next?</p> - -<p>"Oh, I have interrupted you!" Miss -Wilton ejaculated, and stopped just inside -the door.</p> - -<p>"Interrupted me! Not a bit of it! I -was only——"</p> - -<p>"You were thinking of that sonnet—I -know you were!"</p> - -<p>"No, really," said Adrian, almost wishing -he <i>had</i> been thinking of that sonnet. "No, -I wasn't. In fact I think the sonnet is -pretty well finished."</p> - -<p>"Is it? You must read it to me, won't <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> -you?" and she came forward eagerly, took -a chair, and dropped into a graceful attitude -of attention. She had a real taste for -poetry, and the poet was also to her liking. -This was not the first time that she had -listened, with shining eyes and quickened -breath, and had brought the colour to the -young man's cheek by saying with soft -earnestness, "I like that—O, I like that!" -Adrian found it very pleasant to read his -poems to Miss Wilton.</p> - -<p>"If you like," he said. "If you are sure -it won't bore you."</p> - -<p>"Of course I like," she answered.</p> - -<p>"It's the first sonnet of all, you know," -he explained, "a sort of dedication. I -didn't like the one I had, so I shall make -them put this in instead." He pulled his -papers out of his pocket, and took a leaf of -manuscript from among the printed pages. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> -"You must tell me what you think of it," -he said, and cleared his throat.</p> - -<p>At that moment Molly opened the door. -She saw the state of affairs at a glance, and -slipped into her place, as quietly as if she -had come into church late, and spied a -convenient free seat.</p> - -<p>Adrian read—</p> -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line outdent">"<i>Have not all songs been sung, all loves been told?</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>What shall I say when nought is left unsaid?</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>The world is full of memories of the dead,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>Echoes, and relics. Here's no virgin gold,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>But all assayed, none left for me to mould</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>Into new coin, and at your feet to shed,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>Each piece is mint-marked with some poet's head,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>Tested and rung in tributes manifold.</i></div> -<br /> -<div class="line outdent">"<i>O for a single word should be mine own</i>—</div> -<div class="line"><i>And not the homage of long-studied art,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>Common to all, for you who stand apart!</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>O weariness of measures tried and known!</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>Yet in their rhythm, you</i>—<i>if you alone</i>—</div> -<div class="line"><i>Should hear the passionate pulses of my heart!</i>"</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>As he finished he lifted his eyes and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> -looked at Amy. Where else should a -young man look, to emphasise the meaning -of his love-poem, except into a woman's -sympathising eyes? But the look, mere -matter of course as it was, startled and -silenced her. "You—if you alone!" The -words, spoken with the soft fulness of -Adrian's pleasant voice, rang in her ears. -A young woman whose attractions were -recognised by all the family might very -well be pardoned for not at once perceiving -that the emphasis was purely artistic.</p> - -<p>But the silence which would have been full -of meaning for the lover, frightened the poet.</p> - -<p>"You don't like it!" he exclaimed, -anxiously.</p> - -<p>"Oh yes, I do—I like it very much."</p> - -<p>"But there is something wrong," Adrian -persisted. "I am sure you don't like it."</p> - -<p>"Indeed—indeed I do," the girl declared <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> -fervently, and Molly chimed in with an -enthusiastic—</p> - -<p>"Oh, Mr. Scarlett, it's charming!"</p> - -<p>"It's very kind of you to say so," he -replied, pocketing his sonnet and going -towards the piano, still with a slightly -troubled expression. "Shall we try that -duet now?"</p> - -<p>Molly's thoughts were very easily diverted -from poetry. She set up the music; but -just as she was about to strike the first -note, an idea occurred to her, and spinning -half round on the stool—</p> - -<p>"Amy," she said, "do <i>you</i> call that Mr. -Harding so very good-looking?"</p> - -<p>Amy was taken by surprise.</p> - -<p>"I? oh no!" she answered.</p> - -<p>"There!" Molly exclaimed, looking up -at Scarlett.</p> - -<p>"Why, what do you mean?" Miss Wilton <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> -asked. "Somehow I can't fancy he'll live. -Whenever I look at that man's face I think -of death."</p> - -<p>"What a queer idea!" said the younger -sister reflectively. "Well, he certainly -doesn't look strong, and I should think -that Robinson boy would be enough to -worry anybody into an early grave."</p> - -<p>Adrian, standing by the piano, raised his -eyes to the old mirror, as if he half expected -to see the pale face with its watchful eyes -below the gleaming surface of the glass. -But it reflected only a vague confusion of -curtain and wall-paper, and the feathery -foliage of a palm.</p> - -<p>"I say," said Molly, "had you met him -before this morning, or did you introduce -yourselves?"</p> - -<p>"We introduced ourselves. I found he -knew a place where I stayed last summer. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> -Don't you remember," he said, looking across -at Amy, "the old house I told you about?"</p> - -<p>"I remember. Where you wrote that -bit,'<i>Waiting by the Sundial</i>'?"</p> - -<p>Scarlett nodded.</p> - -<p>"Yes. Well, I found he knew it well—in -fact it turned out that he was a -connection——"</p> - -<p>"What, of your friends there?"</p> - -<p>"No, not of my friends, of the old family -who used to have the place."</p> - -<p>"Oh, your friends aren't the old family -then?" said Molly.</p> - -<p>"No, they are not. I ought to say they -<i>were</i> not—there were only two of them," he -added in an explanatory fashion, "old Mr. -Hayes, and his niece Miss Strange, and Mr. -Harding told me to-day that the old man -was dead. I didn't know it."</p> - -<p>Molly looked up sympathetically, but, as <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> -he did not seem to be over-powered with -grief, she went on, after a moment—</p> - -<p>"Isn't it funny how, when one has never -heard a name, and then one <i>does</i> hear it, -one is sure to hear it again in three or four -different ways directly? Did you ever -notice that?"</p> - -<p>Mr. Scarlett wasn't sure that he had, but -he agreed that it was a very remarkable -law.</p> - -<p>"Well it always <i>is</i> so—you notice," she -said. "Now I don't remember that I ever -knew of anybody of the name of Strange -in all my life, and now the Ashfords have -got a Miss Strange staying with them, and -here your friend is a Miss Strange."</p> - -<p>His glance quickened a little at this illustration -of the rule in question.</p> - -<p>"Curious!" he said. "And who is this -Miss Strange who is staying with the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> -Ashfords?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, she is a clergyman's daughter from -Devonshire. She is very pretty. Amy, -don't you think that Miss Strange is -pretty?"</p> - -<p>"Very pretty," said Amy, taking a book -from the table.</p> - -<p>"Yes, very pretty, for that style," Molly -repeated.</p> - -<p>"And what is her particular style?" -Adrian asked, keeping his eyes, which were -growing eager, fixed upon the keyboard.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I don't know—she's rather small," -said Molly lamely (Barbara was not as tall -as Amy Wilton), "and she is dark—too -dark, I think." (Amy was decidedly fair.) -"She has a quantity of black hair. Do -you like black hair?" (Amy's was wound -in shining golden coils,) "and rather a -colour, and fine eyes. Oh, dear, how <i>difficult</i> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> -it is to describe people!"</p> - -<p>It might be so, and yet young Scarlett, -as he listened, could actually see a pair of -soft eyes shining under darkly pencilled -brows, a cloud of shadowy hair, and lips of -deep carnation. It would rather have -seemed that Miss Molly Wilton excelled -in the art of description.</p> - -<p>"Do you know what her name is?" he -asked in an indifferent voice, stooping a -little to look at a speck on one of the keys, -and touching it with a neat finger-nail.</p> - -<p>"What, do you think it may be your -Miss Strange?"</p> - -<p>"It's possible," he said. "Her people were -somewhere in that part of the world."</p> - -<p>"I did hear her name—no, don't say -it! Amy, do you remember Miss Strange's -name?"</p> - -<p>Amy looked up absently.</p> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Something old-fashioned—wasn't it Barbara?"</p> - -<p>Adrian had lifted his head, and their eyes -met. In that moment the girl saw what a -glance could mean. It was just a flash of -light, and then his ordinary look.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said, "that's the name; it -must be the Miss Strange I know."</p> - -<p>"Dear me!" said Molly, "I hope I didn't -say any harm of her just now! You'd better -go and call. You remember the Ashfords, you -went with us to a garden party at their place -when you were staying here two years ago."</p> - -<p>Adrian smiled, and moved towards the -window, forgetting his engagement at the -piano.</p> - -<p>"Oh!" said the disappointed musician, -"aren't we to have the duet then?"</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon," he answered, coming -back with bright promptitude, "I'm quite <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> -ready."</p> - -<p>But Amy, as their voices rose and filled -the room, sat gazing at the page which she -did not read. She had seen how Adrian -Scarlett could look, when he heard the name -of Barbara. And she had thought, because -he turned towards her when he read a -sonnet—she had thought—what? A pink -flush dyed her delicate skin. Our pardonable -mistakes are precisely what we ourselves -can never pardon.</p> - -<p>The song being ended young Scarlett -made his escape. He was half amused, -half indignant.</p> - -<p>"Sandmoor near Ilfracombe! Confound -the fellow, he knew where she was all the -time, and I thought he was rather unwilling -to give me her Devonshire address! Sandmoor -near Ilfracombe indeed!"</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br /> - -<span class="subhead">IN NUTFIELD LANE.</span></h2> - - -<p>When Reynold Harding assured Miss -Wilton that it made very little difference to -him whether he got rid of his pupil for a -day or not, he told a lie. From the moment -when he heard of Guy's holiday, he had -resolved in his own mind that on that -day of freedom, he would see Barbara -Strange.</p> - -<p>He knew that she was staying with the -Ashfords, and he had heard the Robinson -girls talking about her one day after -luncheon.</p> - -<p>"That pretty little Devonshire girl finds <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> -it dull, I think," said Violet.</p> - -<p>"Who wouldn't?" her sister exclaimed. -"She has had time to hear all old Ashford's -stories a dozen times before this, and they -are stupid enough the first time. But how -do you know she finds it dull?"</p> - -<p>"They say she is always running about -the fields looking for primroses and cowslips. -I saw her when I was out riding this morning, -leaning on the gate into Nutfield Lane, -with her hands full of them."</p> - -<p>"How very picturesque! Looking into -the lane for some more?"</p> - -<p>"Or for some one to help her carry what -she'd got. I don't know what I mightn't be -driven to, myself, if I had to listen to old -Ashford's prosing, and then go crawling out -for a couple of hours boxed up in Mother -Ashford's stuffy old brougham, two or three -times a week. And Willy Ashford hardly <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> -ever comes, now he's engaged to that girl in -Kensington."</p> - -<p>"No," said Muriel, "and I don't know -that he would mend matters much if he did. -Well, perhaps somebody with a taste for -cowslips and innocence, will happen to walk -along Nutfield Lane next time Miss Strange -is looking over the gate. What did you -think of doing this afternoon?"</p> - -<p>They were standing in the window, and -speaking low. But their voices were metallic -and penetrating, and the tutor, who was -watching Guy's progress through a meal, -which had worn out his sisters' patience, -heard every word. He had his back to -the light, and the boy did not see the black -full veins on his forehead.</p> - -<p>"But I want some more tart," said -Guy.</p> - -<p>The request was granted with careless <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> -liberality.</p> - -<p>"Is that enough?" Harding asked.</p> - -<p>The boy eyed it. He did not think he -could possibly manage any more, but he -said—</p> - -<p>"I don't know," just as a measure of -precaution.</p> - -<p>"Well, eat that first," said the other, and -sat, resting his head on his hand.</p> - -<p>He knew Nutfield Lane. It was three or -four miles from the Priory; Guy and he -went that way sometimes. He remembered -a gate there, with posts set close to a couple -of towering elms, that arched it with their -budding boughs, and thrust their roots -above the trodden pathway. There was a -meadow beyond, the prettiest possible background -for a pretty little Devonshire girl -with her hands full of cowslips. As to her -looking out for any one—he would like to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> -walk straight up to those vulgar, chattering, -expensive young women, and knock their -heads together. It seemed to Harding that -there would be something very soothing -and satisfying about such an expression of -his opinion, if only it were possible! But -it could not be, and he relinquished the -thought with a sigh, as he had relinquished -the pursuit of other unattainable joys.</p> - -<p>"N—no, I don't want any more," said -Guy, regretfully. "Only some more beer."</p> - -<p>Harding nodded, with that absent-minded -acquiescence which had endeared him to his -pupil. Guy was only to him like a buzzing -fly, or any other tiresome little presence, -to be endured in silence, and, as far as -possible, ignored. But when that afternoon -the boy came to him with the announcement -that he should be twelve on Tuesday, -and his father was going to take him somewhere <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> -for the whole day, Reynold raised his -head from the exercise he was correcting, -and looked at him fixedly.</p> - -<p>"That's all right," he said, after a moment.</p> - -<p>In that moment he had made up his mind. -He wanted to see Barbara. And then? He -did not know what then, but he wanted to -see her.</p> - -<p>The white spring sunshine lighted the -page which Guy had scrawled and blotted, -and Reynold sat with the pen between his -fingers, dreaming. He would see Barbara, -but he would not even attempt to think -what he would do or say when they met. -He had planned and schemed before, and -chance had swept all his schemes away. Now -he would leave it all to chance; it was -enough for him to think that he would -certainly see her again.</p> - -<p>He would see her, not standing as he had <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> -seen her first, in sad autumnal scenery, not -coming towards him in the pale firelit room, -not walking beside him to the village, while -the wind drove flights of dead leaves across -the grey curtain of the sky, not as she -faced him, frightened and breathless, in the -quivering circle of lamplight on the stairs, -not as he remembered her last of all, when -she stood beyond the boundary which he -might not cross, and Mitchelhurst Place rose -behind her in the light of the moon, white -and dead as dry bones. It seemed to him -that it must always be autumn at Mitchelhurst, -with dim, short days, and gusty -nights, and the chilly atmosphere laden -with odours of decay. But all this was -past and over, and he was going to meet -Barbara in the spring. Barbara in April—all -happy songs of love, all the young -gladness of the year, all tender possibilities <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> -were summed up in those three words. He -was startled at the sudden eagerness which -escaped from his control, and throbbed and -bounded within him when he resolved to -see her once again. But he did not betray -it outwardly, unless, perhaps, by an attempt -to write his next correction with a dry -pen.</p> - -<p>He listened to Guy's excited chatter -as the day drew near, and set out with -him to carry the invitation to Bob Wilton, -in a mood which, on the surface, was -one of apathetic patience. Nothing he -could do would hasten the arrival of -Tuesday, but nevertheless it was coming. -When the two boys went off to the stables -together, he waited. He might as well -wait in the Wiltons' sunny drawing-room -as anywhere else. And when some one -entered by the further door and began to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> -play, he listened, not ill pleased. He had -no ear for music, but the defect was purely -physical, and except for that hindrance -he might have loved it. As it was he -could not appreciate the meaning of what -was played beyond the curtain, nor could -he recognise the skill and delicacy with -which it was rendered. To him it was -only a bright, formless ripple of sound, -gliding vaguely by, till suddenly Barbara's -tune, rounded and clear and silver sweet, -awoke him from his reverie.</p> - -<p>For a moment he sat breathless with -wonder. Only a dull memory of her music -had stayed with him, a kind of tuneless -beating of its measure, and the living -notes, melodiously full, pursued that poor -ghost through his heart and brain. His -pulses throbbed as if the girl herself were -close at hand. Then he rose, and softly <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> -stepped across the room. Who was it who -was playing Barbara's tune? Who but the -man who had played it to Barbara?</p> - -<p>Considered as a piece of reasoning this -was weak. Anybody would have told him -the name of the composer, and could have -assured him that dozens and scores of men -might play the thing. Barbara might have -heard it on a barrel organ! But Harding's -thoughts went straight to the one man -who had left music lying about at Mitchelhurst -with his name, "Adrian Scarlett," -written on it. Barbara's tune jangled -wildly in his ears; she had learnt it from -this man, or she had taught it to him.</p> - -<p>Thus it happened that Adrian looked up -from his playing, and saw the picture in -the mirror, the face that followed him with -its intent and hostile gaze. And Reynold, -standing apart and motionless, watched the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> -musician, and noted his air of careless ease -and mastery, the smile which lingered on -his lips, and the way in which he threw -back his head and let his glances rove, -though of course he did not know that all -these things were a little accentuated by -Adrian's self-consciousness under his scrutiny. -He was sure, even before a word had been -uttered, that this was the man whose name -had haunted him at Mitchelhurst, and who -won Mr. Pryor's heart by singing at his -penny reading. To Reynold, standing in -the shadow, Scarlett was the type of the -conquering young hero, swaggering a little -in the consciousness of his popularity and -his facile triumphs.</p> - -<p>To some extent he wronged Adrian, and -on one point Adrian wronged him. He -believed that Harding had exulted in the -idea of putting him on the wrong scent <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> -with his "Sandmoor near Ilfracombe." -But in point of fact Harding had given the -address with real reluctance. He had been -asked where the Stranges lived, and had -told the truth. To have supplemented it -with information as to Barbara's whereabouts -would have been to assume a knowledge -of Scarlett's meaning in asking the -question, a thing intolerable and impossible. -Yet Harding's morbid pride was galled by -his unwilling deceit, and he wished that -the subject had never been mentioned. He -had no doubt that his rival would go to -Sandmoor, but he did not exult in the -thought of the disappointment that awaited -him there.</p> - -<p>Still, when Tuesday came it undoubtedly -was a satisfaction to feel that the express -was carrying Mr. Scarlett further and -further from the gate which led into <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> -Nutfield Lane. Otherwise the day was of -but doubtful promise, its blue blotted -with rain-clouds, which Guy Robinson regarded -as a personal injury. It brightened, -however, after the birthday party had -started, and Reynold set out on his rather -vague errand, under skies which shone and -threatened in the most orthodox April -fashion. The heavens might have laid a -wager that they would show a dozen different -faces in the hour, from watery -sadness to glittering joy. It was hardly -a day on which Mrs. Ashford would care -to creep out in her brougham, but a little -Devonshire girl, tired of a dull house, -might very well face it with an umbrella -and her second-best hat.</p> - -<p>Harding made sure that she would. If -she failed to do so he had no scheme -ready. He did not know the Ashfords, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> -and to go up to their house and ask for -Miss Strange, could lead, at the best, to -nothing but a formal interview under the -eyes of an old lady who would consider -his visit an impertinence. But Barbara -would come! It was surely time that his -luck should turn. When the hazard of -the die has been against us a dozen times -we are apt to have an irrational conviction -that our chance must come with the next -throw, and Harding strolled round the -Ashfords' place, questioning only how, and -how soon, she would appear. To see her -once—it was so little that he asked!—to -see her, and to hold her hand for a -moment in his own, and to make her look -up at him, straight into his eyes. And -if she had the fancy still, as he somehow -thought she had, to hear him say that he -forgave her, why, he would say it. As if <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> -he had ever blamed her for the little forgetfulness -which had ended all his hopes -of fortune! And yet, if Barbara could -have known how near that fortune had -been! The old man's health had failed -suddenly during the winter, the great inheritance -was about to fall in, and Reynold -would have been a partner and his own -master within a few months from his -decision. "Well," he said to himself as he -leant on the gate in Nutfield Lane, "and -even so, what harm has she done? Was I -not going to say No before I saw her? And -if she persuaded me to write the Yes which -turned to No at the bottom of her apron -pocket, am I to complain of her for that?"</p> - -<p>He thought, that he would ask her for a -flower, a leaf, or a budding twig from the -hedge, just by way of remembrance. At -present he had none, except the unopened <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> -letter which she had given back to him -in his lodgings at Mitchelhurst.</p> - -<p>The day grew fairer as it passed. Though -a couple of sparkling showers, which filled -the sunlit air with the quick flashing of -falling drops, drove him once and again for -shelter to a hay-stack in a neighbouring -meadow, the blue field overhead widened -little by little, and shone through the -tracery of leafless boughs. He felt his -spirits rising almost in spite of himself. -He came back, after the second shower, by -the field path to the lane, and was in the -act of getting over the gate when he heard -steps coming quickly towards him. Not -Barbara's, they were from the opposite -direction. He sprang hastily down, and -found himself face to face with Mr. Adrian -Scarlett, who was humming a tune.</p> - -<p>Reynold drew a long breath, and stood <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> -as if he were turned to stone. Adrian -was only mortal, he lifted his hat, and -smiled his greeting, with a look in his grey-blue -eyes which said as plainly as possible, -"<i>Didn't you think I was at Sandmoor?</i>" -and then walked on towards the Ashfords' -house, where he had been to the tennis -party two years before. He would be -very welcome there. And if he should -chance to meet Barbara by the way, <i>he</i> -knew very well what he was going to -say to her. But a moment later he felt -a touch of pity for the luckless fellow -who had not outwitted him after all. -"Poor devil!" he said, as he had said -the day before.</p> - -<p>The epithet, which, like many another, -is flung about inappropriately enough, hit -the mark for once. Reynold stood pale -and dumb, choked with bitter hate, but <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> -helpless and hopeless enough for pity. He -would do no more with hate than he had -done with love. He knew it, and presently -he turned and walked drearily away. -He did not want to see Barbara when she -had met Adrian Scarlett. He had meant -to see her <i>first</i>, to end his unlucky little -love-story with a few gentle words, to -hold her hand for a moment, and then to -step aside and leave her free to go her -way. What harm would there have been? -But this man, who was to have everything, -had baulked him even in this. She would -not care for his pardon now, and perhaps -it would hardly have been worth taking. -If one is compelled to own one's forgiveness -superfluous it is difficult to keep it sweet.</p> - -<p>So he did not see Barbara when, a little -later, she came up Nutfield Lane by Scarlett's -side. They stopped by the gate, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> -leant on it. Barbara had no flowers in -her hands, but it seemed to her that all -the country-side was blossoming.</p> - -<p>She looked a little older than when -Adrian had bidden her his mute farewell -at Mitchelhurst. The expression of her -face was at once quickened and deepened, -her horizon was enlarged, though the gaze -which questioned it was as innocent as ever. -But her dark eyes kept a memory of the -proud patience with which she had waited -through the winter. There had been times -when her faith in the <i>Clergy List</i> had been -shaken, and she had doubted whether -Adrian would ever consult its pages, and -find out where her father lived. She did -not blame him; he was free as air; yet -those had been moments of almost unbearable -loneliness. She never spoke of him -to anybody; to have been joked and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> -pitied by Louisa and Hetty would have -been hateful to her. She thought of him -continually, and dreamed of him sometimes. -But there was only a limited satisfaction -in dreaming of Adrian Scarlett; he was apt -to be placed in absurdly topsy-turvy circumstances, -and to behave unaccountably. -Barbara felt, regretfully, that a girl who -was parted from such a lover should have -dreamed in a loftier manner. She was -ashamed of herself, although she knew she -could not help it. Now, however, there -was no need to trouble herself about dreams -or clergy lists; Adrian was leaning on the -gate by her side.</p> - -<p>"What you must have thought of me!" -he was saying. "Never to take the least -notice of your uncle's death! I can't -think how I missed hearing of it."</p> - -<p>"It was in the <i>Times</i> and some of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> -other papers," said Barbara.</p> - -<p>The melancholy little announcement had -seemed to her a sort of appeal to her -absent lover.</p> - -<p>"I never saw it. I was—busy just -then," he explained with a little hesitation. -"I suppose I didn't look at the papers. I -have been fancying you at Mitchelhurst all -the time, and promising myself that I would -go back there, and find you where I found -you first."</p> - -<p>Barbara did not speak; she leaned back -and looked up at him with a smile. Adrian's -answering gaze held hers as if it enfolded it.</p> - -<p>"I <i>might</i> have written," he said, "or -inquired—I might have done <i>something</i>, -at any rate! I can't think how it was I -didn't! But I'd got it into my head -that I wanted to get those poems of -mine out—wanted to go back to you with <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> -my volume in my hand, and show you the -dedication. I was waiting for that—I -never thought——"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said the girl with breathless -admiration and approval. "And are they -finished now?"</p> - -<p>"Confound the poems!" cried Adrian with -an amazed, remorseful laugh. A stronger -word had been on his lips. "Don't talk -of them, Barbara! To think that I neglected -you while I was polishing those -idiotic rhymes, and that you think it was -all right and proper! Oh, my dear, if you -tried for a week you couldn't make me feel -smaller! If—if anything had happened -to you, and I had been left with my -trumpery verses—"</p> - -<p>"You shall not call them that! Don't -talk so!"</p> - -<p>"Well, suppose you had got tired of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> -waiting, and had come across some better -fellow. There was time enough, and it -would have served me right."</p> - -<p>"I don't know about serving you right, -but there wouldn't have been time for me -to get tired of waiting," said Barbara, and -added more softly, "not if it had been all -my life."</p> - -<p>"Listen to that!" Adrian answered, leaning -backward, with his elbows on the gate. -"All her life—for <i>me</i>!"</p> - -<p>His quick fancy sketched that life: first -the passionate eagerness, throbbing, hoping, -trusting, despairing; then submission to -the inevitable, the gradual extinction of -expectation as time went on; and finally -the dimness and placidity of old age, satisfied -to worship a pathetic memory. Hardly -love, rather love's ghost, that shadowy -sentiment, cut off from the strong actual <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> -existence of men and women, and thinly -nourished on recollections, and fragments -of mild verse. Scarlett turned away, as -from a book of dried flowers, to Barbara.</p> - -<p>"What did you think of me?" he said, -still dwelling on the same thought. "Never -one word!"</p> - -<p>"Well, I felt as if there were a word—at -least, a kind of a word—once," she -said. "I went with Louisa to the dentist -last February—it was Valentine's Day—she -wanted a tooth taken out. There -were some books and papers lying about -in the waiting-room. One of them was an -old Christmas number, with something of -yours in it. Do you remember?"</p> - -<p>"N—no," said Scarlett doubtfully.</p> - -<p>"Oh, don't say it wasn't yours! A -little poem—it had your name at the end. -There can't be <i>another</i>, surely," said Barbara, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> -with a touch of resentment at the -idea. "There were two illustrations, but -I didn't care much for them; I didn't -think they were good enough. I read the -poem over and over. I did so hope I -should recollect it all; but he was ready -for Louisa before I had time to learn it -properly, and our name was called. It -was a very bad tooth, and Louisa had gas, -you know. I was obliged to go. I am -so slow at learning by heart. Louisa would -have known it all in half the time; but I -did wish I could have had just one minute -more."</p> - -<p>"Tell me what it was," Adrian said.</p> - -<p>"<i>My love loves me</i>," Barbara began in a -timid voice.</p> - -<p>"Oh—that! Yes, I remember now. The -man who edits that magazine is a friend -of mine, and he asked me for some little <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> -thing for his Christmas number. If I had -thought you would have cared I could have -sent it to you."</p> - -<p>Her eyes shone with grateful happiness.</p> - -<p>"But I didn't," said Adrian. "I didn't -do anything. Well, go on, Barbara, tell -me how much you remembered."</p> - -<p>Barbara paused a moment, looking back -to the open page on the dentist's green -table-cloth. As she spoke she could see -poor Louisa, awaiting her summons with a -resigned and swollen face, an old gentleman -examining a picture in the <i>Illustrated London -News</i> through his eyeglass, and a -lady apprehensively turning the pages of -the dentist's pamphlet, <i>On Diseases of the -Teeth and Gums</i>. Outside, the rain was -streaming down the window panes. Barbara -recalled all this with Adrian's verses.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line outdent">"<i>My love loves me. Then wherefore care</i></div> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> -<div class="line"><i>For rain or shine, for foul or fair?</i></div> -<div class="line indent"><i>My love loves me.</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>My daylight hours are golden wine,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>And all the happy stars are mine,</i></div> -<div class="line indent"><i>My love loves me!</i>"</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>"<i>Love flies away</i>," she began more doubtfully, -and looked at Adrian, who took it up.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line outdent">"<i>Love flies away, and summer mirth</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>Lies cold and grey upon the earth,</i></div> -<div class="line indent"><i>Love flies away,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>The sun has set, no more to rise,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>And far, beneath the shrouded sides,</i></div> -<div class="line indent"><i>Love flies away.</i>"</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>"Yes!" cried Barbara, "that's it! I had -forgotten those last lines—how stupid of -me!"</p> - -<p>"Not at all," said Adrian. "You remembered -all that concerned you, the -rest was quite superfluous."</p> - -<p>"Oh, but how I did try to remember -the end!" she continued pensively. "It -haunted me. If I had only had a minute <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> -more! But all the same I felt as if I had -had something of a message from you that -day. It was my valentine, wasn't it?"</p> - -<p>Scarlett's eyes, with a look half whimsical, -half touched with tender melancholy, -met hers.</p> - -<p>"I <i>wish</i> we were worth a little more—my -poems and I!" said he. "I wish I -were a hero, and had written an epic. -Yes, by Jove! an epic in twelve books."</p> - -<p>"Oh, not for me!" cried Barbara.</p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br /> - -<span class="subhead">A VERSE OF AN OLD SONG.</span></h2> - -<p>"Adrian!"</p> - -<p>The name was uttered with just a hint -of hesitating appeal.</p> - -<p>"At your service," Scarlett answered -promptly. He had a bit of paper before -him, and was pencilling an initial letter to -be embroidered on Barbara's handkerchiefs.</p> - -<p>"Adrian, did you hear that Mr. Harding—you -know whom I mean—was ill?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I did hear something about it." -He put his head on one side and looked -critically at his work. "Is it anything -serious?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Barbara. "I'm afraid it <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> -is."</p> - -<p>"Poor fellow! I'm very sorry. How -the days do shorten, don't they?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Barbara again. "They spoke -as if he were going to—die."</p> - -<p>"Really? I'm sorry for that. It is -strange," Adrian continued, putting in a -stroke very delicately, "but one of the -Wilton girls used always to say he looked -like it. I think it was Molly."</p> - -<p>Barbara sighed but did not speak.</p> - -<p>"Let's see," said Adrian, "he left the -Robinsons—what happened? Didn't the -boy get drowned?"</p> - -<p>"No!" scornfully, "he fell into the -water, but somebody fished him out."</p> - -<p>"Not Harding?"</p> - -<p>"No, somebody else. Mr. Harding went -in, but he couldn't swim, and he didn't -reach Guy. But he got a chill—it seems <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> -that was the beginning of it all."</p> - -<p>Scarlett leant back in his chair, twirling -the pencil between his fingers and looking -at Barbara, whose eyes were fixed upon the -rug. They were alone in the drawing-room -of a house in Kensington. Their wedding -was to be in about six weeks' time, and -Barbara was staying for a fortnight with -an aunt who had undertaken to help her -in her shopping—a delightful aunt who -paid bills, and who liked a quiet nap in -the afternoon. Adrian sometimes went out -with them, and always showed great respect -for the good lady's slumbers.</p> - -<p>"Well," he said, after a pause, "and -where is Mr. Harding now?"</p> - -<p>"At his mother's. She lives at Westbourne -Park."</p> - -<p>"Westbourne Park," Scarlett repeated. -"By Jove, that's a change from Mitchelhurst! <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> -A nice healthy neighbourhood, and -convenient for Whiteley's, I suppose; but -<i>what</i> a change! I say, Barbara, how do -you happen to know so much about the -Hardings?"</p> - -<p>"Adrian!"</p> - -<p>And again she seemed to appeal and -hesitate in the mere utterance of his name. -She crossed the room, and touched his -shoulder with her left hand, which had a -ring shining on it—a single emerald, a -point of lucid colour on her slim finger.</p> - -<p>"Adrian, I wanted to ask you, would -there be any harm if——"</p> - -<p>"No," said Adrian gravely, "no harm -at all. Not the slightest. Certainly not."</p> - -<p>He took her other hand in his.</p> - -<p>She looked doubtfully at him.</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?"</p> - -<p>"What do <i>you</i> mean, Barbara?"</p> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I wanted to go to the door and ask -how he is—that's all. I feel as if I -shouldn't like to go away without a word. -We didn't part quite good friends, you -know. And last year he was making his -plans, and now we are making ours, and -he——Oh, Adrian, why is life so sad? -And yet I never thought I <i>could</i> be as -happy as I am now."</p> - -<p>"It's rather mixed, isn't it?" he said, -smiling up at her, and he drew her hand -to his lips. Barbara's eyes were full of -tears. To hide them, she stooped quickly -and touched his hair with a fleeting kiss.</p> - -<p>"By all means go and ask after your -friend before you leave town," said Adrian. -"Let us hope he isn't as bad as they -think."</p> - -<p>"He is," said the girl. -Long before this she had told Adrian <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> -about her night adventure at Mitchelhurst. -She had been perfectly frank about it, and -yet she sometimes doubted her own confession. -It seemed so little when she spoke -of it to him, so unimportant, so empty of -all meaning. Could it be that, and only -that, which had troubled her so strangely? -He had smiled as he listened, and had -put it aside. "I don't suppose you did -very much harm," he said, "but any one -with half an eye could see that he wasn't -the kind of fellow to take things easily. -Poor Barbara!" She stood now with something -of the same perplexity on her brow; -the thought of Reynold Harding always -perplexed her.</p> - -<p>There was a brief silence, during which -she abandoned her hands to Adrian's clasp, -and felt his touch run through her, from -sensitive finger tips to her very heart. Then <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> -she spoke quickly, yet half unwillingly, -"Very well then, I shall go."</p> - -<p>"You wish it?" Adrian exclaimed, swift -to detect every shade of meaning in her -voice. "Because, if not, there is no reason -why you should. If you hadn't said just -now you wanted to go——"</p> - -<p>She drew one hand away and turned a -little aside. "I know," she said, "I did -say it. Really and truly I don't want to -go; it makes me uncomfortable to think -about him, but I want to have been."</p> - -<p>"Get it over then. Ask, and come -away as quickly as you can."</p> - -<p>"To-morrow?" said Barbara. "I thought, -perhaps, as aunt was not going with us -about those photograph frames, that to-morrow -might do. I couldn't go with -aunt."</p> - -<p>"You have thought of everything. Go <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> -on."</p> - -<p>"You might put me into a cab after we -leave the shop," she continued. "I think -that would be best. I would go and just -inquire, and then come straight on here. I -don't want to explain to anybody, and if -you say it is all right——"</p> - -<p>"Why, it is all right, of course. That's -settled then," said Adrian.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The next day was dreary even for -late November. Adrian and Barbara passed -through the frame-maker's door into an -outer gloom, chilly and acrid with a touch -of fog, and variegated with slowly-descending -blacks. Everything was dirty and damp. -There were gas-lights in the shop windows -of a dim tawny yellow.</p> - -<p>Scarlett looked right and left at the -sodden street and then upward in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> -direction of the sky. "This isn't very -nice," he said; "hadn't we better go -straight home?"</p> - -<p>"No—please!" Barbara entreated. "We -have filled up to-morrow and the next -day, and aunt has asked some people to -afternoon tea on Saturday."</p> - -<p>"All right; it may be better when we -get to Westbourne Park. I'll go a bit of -the way with you."</p> - -<p>He looked for a cab. Barbara waited -passively by his side, gazing straight before -her. She had never looked prettier than -she did at that moment, standing on the -muddy step in the midst of the universal -dinginess. Excitement had given tension -and brilliancy to her face, she was flushed -and warm in her wrappings of dark fur, -and above the rose-red of her cheeks her -eyes were shining like stars. "Here we <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> -are!" said Scarlett, as he hailed a loitering -hansom.</p> - -<p>They drove northward, passing rows of -shops, all blurred and glistening in the -foggy air, and wide, muddy crossings, where -people started back at the driver's hoarse -shout. Scarlett, with Barbara's hand in his, -watched the long procession of figures on -the pavement—dusky figures which looked -like marionnettes, going mechanically and -ceaselessly on their way. To the young -man, driving by at his ease, their measured -movements had an air of ineffectual toil; -they were on the treadmill, they hurried -for ever, and were always left behind. -Looking at them he thought of the myriads -in the rear, stepping onward, stepping continually. -If they had really been marionnettes! -But the droll thing was that each -figure had a history; there was a world-picture <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> -in every one of those little, jogging -heads.</p> - -<p>Presently the shops became scarce, the -procession on the pavement grew scattered -and thin. They were driving up long, dim -streets of stuccoed houses. They passed a -square or two where trees, black and bare, -rose above shadowy masses of evergreens -all pent together within iron railings. One -might have fancied that the poor things -had strayed into the smoky wilderness, and -been impounded in that melancholy place.</p> - -<p>"We must be almost there," said Adrian -at last, when they had turned into a cross -street where the plastered fronts were lower -and shabbier. He put the question to the -cabman.</p> - -<p>"Next turning but one, sir," was the -answer.</p> - -<p>"Then I'll get out here," said Scarlett.</p> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> - -<p>Barbara murmured a word of farewell, -but she felt that it was best. She always -thought of Reynold Harding as the unhappiest -man she knew, and she could not have -driven up to his door to flaunt her great -happiness before his eyes. She leant forward -quickly, and caught a glimpse of that -clear happiness of hers on the side walk, -smiling and waving a farewell, the one -bright and pleasant thing to look upon in -the grey foulness of the afternoon.</p> - -<p>A turning—then it was very near indeed! -Another dull row of houses, each with its -portico and little flight of steps. Here -and there was a glimmer of gas-light in the -basement windows. Then another corner -and they were in the very street, and -going more slowly as the driver tried to -make out the numbers on the doors. At -that moment it suddenly occurred to Miss <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> -Strange that her errand was altogether -absurd and impossible. She was seized -with an overpowering paroxysm of shyness. -Her heart stood still, and then began to -throb with labouring strokes. Why had -she ever come?</p> - -<p>Had it depended on herself alone she -would certainly have turned round and -gone home, but the cab stopped with a -jerk opposite one of the stuccoed houses, -and there was an evident expectation that -she would get out and knock at the door. -What would the cabman think of her if -she refused, and what could she say to -Adrian after all the fuss she had made? -Well, perhaps she could face Adrian, who -always understood. But the cabman! She -alighted and went miserably up the steps.</p> - -<p>A servant answered her knock, and stood -waiting. Between the maid and the man <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> -Barbara plucked up a desperate courage, -and asked if Mrs. Harding was at home. -She was.</p> - -<p>"How is Mr. Harding to-day?" inquired -Barbara, hesitating on the threshold.</p> - -<p>"Much as usual, thank you, miss," the -girl replied. "Won't you step in?"</p> - -<p>She obeyed. After all, as she reflected, -she need only stay a few minutes, and to -go away with merely the formal inquiry, -made and answered at the door, would -be unsatisfactory. Mr. Harding might -never hear that she had called. She followed -the maid into a vacant sitting-room, -and gave her a card to take to her mistress. -The colour rushed to her very forehead -as she opened the case. Her Uncle Hayes -had had her cards printed with <i>Mitchelhurst -Place</i> in the corner, and though, on -coming to Kensington, she had drawn her <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> -pen through it, and written her aunt's -address instead, it was plain enough to -see. How would a Rothwell like to read -<i>Mitchelhurst Place</i> on a stranger's card? -She felt that she was a miserable little -upstart.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Harding did not come immediately, -and Barbara as she waited was reminded -of the dentist's room at Ilfracombe. "It's -just like it," she said to herself, "and I -can't have gas, so it's worse, really. And -she hasn't got as many books either." -This brought back a memory, and her -lips and eyes began to smile—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line outdent">"<i>My love loves me. Then wherefore care</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>For rain or shine, for foul or fair?</i></div> -<div class="line indent"><i>My love loves me.</i>"</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>But the smile was soon followed by a sigh.</p> - -<p>The door opened and Mrs. Harding -came in. To Barbara, still in her teens, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> -Reynold's mother was necessarily an old -woman, but she recognised her beauty -almost in spite of herself, and stood amazed. -Mrs. Harding wore black, and it was rather -shabby black, but she had the air of a -great lady, and her visitor, in her presence, -was a shy blushing child. She apologised -for her delay, and the apology was a condescension.</p> - -<p>"You don't know me," said the girl in -timid haste, "but I know Mr. Harding a -little, and I thought I would call."</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes," said Kate, "I know you by -name, Miss Strange. My son was indebted -to Mr. Hayes for an invitation to Mitchelhurst -Place last autumn."</p> - -<p>"I'm sure we were very glad," Barbara -began, and then stopped confusedly, remembering -that they had turned Mr. Reynold -Harding out of the house before his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> -visit was over. The situation was embarrassing. -"I wish we could have made -it pleasanter for him," she said, and blushed -more furiously than ever.</p> - -<p>"Have made Mitchelhurst Place pleasanter?" -Mrs. Harding repeated. "Thank -you, you are very kind. I believe he had -a great wish to see the Place."</p> - -<p>"It's a fine old house," said Barbara, -conversationally. "I have left it now."</p> - -<p>"So I supposed. I was sorry to see in -the paper that Mr. Hayes was dead. I -remember him very well, five-and-twenty -or thirty years ago."</p> - -<p>"I am going abroad," the girl continued. -"I—I don't exactly know how long we -shall be away. I am going to be married. -But they told me Mr. Harding was ill—I -hope it is not serious? I thought, as I -was near, that I should like to ask before I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> -went."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Harding considered her with suddenly -awakened attention. "He is very -ill," she said, briefly. "You know what is -the matter with him?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I suppose so."</p> - -<p>"He was not very strong as a boy. At -one time he seemed better, but it was only -for a time."</p> - -<p>"I'm very sorry," said Barbara, standing -up. "Please tell him I came to ask how -he was before I went."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Harding rose too, and looked -straight into her visitor's eyes. "Would -you like to see him?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know," the girl faltered. "I'm not -sure he would care to see me. If he would—"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Harding interrupted her, "Excuse -me a moment," and vanished.</p> - -<p>Barbara, left alone, stood confounded. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> -She was taken by surprise, and yet she -was conscious that to see Reynold Harding -was what she had really been hoping and -dreading from the first. Some one moved -overhead. Perhaps he would say "No," -in that harsh, sudden voice of his. Well, -then, she would escape from this house, -which was like a prison to her, and go -back to Adrian, knowing that she had done -all she could. Perhaps he would laugh, -and say "Yes."</p> - -<p>She listened with strained attention. A -chair was moved, a fire was stirred, a door -was closed. Then her hostess reappeared. -"Will you come this way?" she said.</p> - -<p>Barbara obeyed without a word. The -matter was taken out of her hands, and -nothing but submission was possible. The -grey dusk was gathering on the stairs, and -through a tall window, rimmed with squares <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> -of red and blue, rose a view of roofs and -chimneys half drowned in fog. Barbara -passed onward and upward, went mutely -through a door which was opened for her, -and saw Reynold Harding sitting by the -fire. He lifted his face and looked at her. -In an instant there flashed into her memory -a verse of the old song of <i>Barbara Allen</i>, -sung to her as a child for her name's sake:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line outdent">"<i>Slowly, slowly, she came up,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>And slowly she came nigh him;</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>And all she said when there she came,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>'Young man, I think you're dying.'</i>"</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The words, which she had sung to herself -many a time, taking pleasure in their grotesque -simplicity, presented themselves now -with such sudden and ghastly directness, -that a cold damp broke out on her forehead. -She set her teeth fast, fearing that Barbara's -speech would force its way through her <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> -lips with an outburst of hysterical laughter. -What <i>could</i> she say, what could anybody -say, but, "Young man, I think you're -dying?" The words were clamouring so -loudly in her ears that she glanced apprehensively -at Mrs. Harding to make sure -that they had not been spoken.</p> - -<p>Reynold's smile recalled her to herself, -and told her that he was reading too much -on her startled face. "Won't you sit -down?" he said, pointing to a chair. -Before she took it she instinctively put -out her hand, and greeted him with a -murmur of speech. What she said she did -not exactly know, but <i>not</i> those hideous -words, thank God!</p> - -<p>Mrs. Harding paused for a moment by -the fire, gazing curiously at her son, as -if she were studying a problem. Then -silently, in obedience to some sign of his, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> -or to some divination of her own, she -turned away and left the two together.</p> - -<p>Barbara looked over her shoulder at the -closing door, and her eyes in travelling -back to Harding's face took in the general -aspect of the room. It was fairly large and -lofty. Folding doors, painted a dull drab, -divided it from what she conjectured was -the sick man's bed-room. It was dull, it -was negative, not particularly shabby, not -uncomfortable, not vulgar, but hopelessly -dreary and commonplace. There was in it -no single touch of beauty or individuality -on which the eye could rest. Some years -earlier an upholsterer had supplied the -ordinary furniture, a paper-hanger had put -up an ordinary paper, and, except that -time had a little dulled and faded everything, -it remained as they had left it. -The drab was rather more drab, that was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> -all.</p> - -<p>"Well," said Reynold from his arm-chair, -"so you have come to see me."</p> - -<p>"I wanted to ask you how you were—I -heard you were ill," Barbara explained, and -it struck her that she was exactly like a -little parrot, saying the same thing over -and over again.</p> - -<p>"Very kind of you," he replied. "Do -you want me to answer?"</p> - -<p>"If—if you could say you were getting -a little better."</p> - -<p>He smiled. "It looks like it, doesn't -it?" he said, languidly.</p> - -<p>Barbara's eyes met his for a moment, -and then she hung her head.</p> - -<p>No, it did not look like it. Two candles -were burning on the chimney-piece, but the -curtains had not been drawn. Between the -two dim lights, yellow and grey, he sat, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> -leaning a little sideways, with a face like -the face of the dead, except for the great -sombre eyes which looked out of it, and -the smile which showed a glimpse of his -teeth. His hand hung over the arm of -his chair, the hot nerveless hand which -Barbara had taken in her own a moment -before.</p> - -<p>"I am so sorry," she said. "I hoped I -might have had some better news of you -before I went away. Did you know I was -going away—going to be married?"</p> - -<p>She looked up, putting the question in a -timid voice, and he answered "Yes," with -a slight movement of his head and eyelids. -"I wish you all happiness."</p> - -<p>"Thank you," said Barbara gratefully.</p> - -<p>"And where are you going?"</p> - -<p>"To Paris for a time, and then we shall -see. He"—this with a little hesitation—"he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> -is very busy."</p> - -<p>"Busy—what, more poems?" said the -man who had done with being busy.</p> - -<p>"Yes. Did you see his volume?"</p> - -<p>Harding shook his head. "I'm afraid -I'm a little past Mr. Scarlett's poetry."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" said Barbara, "of course one -can't read when one is ill. You ought to -rest."</p> - -<p>"Yes," he assented, "I don't seem able -to manage that either, just at present, but -I dare say I shall soon. Meanwhile I sit -here and look at the fire."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said the girl. "Some people see -all sorts of things in the fire."</p> - -<p>"So they say," he answered listlessly. -"<i>I</i> see it eating its heart out slowly. And -so you are going to Paris? That was your -dream when you were at Mitchelhurst."</p> - -<p>"Yes—you told me to wait, and it would <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> -come, and it is coming. Oh, but you had -dreams at Mitchelhurst, too, Mr. Harding! -I wanted them to come true as well as -mine."</p> - -<p>"Did you? That was very kind of you. -Mitchelhurst was a great place for dreams, -wasn't it? But I left mine there. Better -there."</p> - -<p>"I felt ashamed just now," said Barbara, -"when your mother spoke about your staying -with us at Mitchelhurst. She doesn't -know, then? Oh, Mr. Harding, I hate to -think how we treated you in your old home, -and I know my poor uncle was sorry too!"</p> - -<p>"What for? People who can't agree are -better apart, and Mrs. Simmonds' lodgings -were comfortable enough," said Reynold.</p> - -<p>"Oh, but it wasn't right! If you and -uncle had only met—"</p> - -<p>"Well, if all they tell us is true, I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> -suppose we shall before long. Let's hope -we may both be better tempered."</p> - -<p>"Don't!" cried Barbara, with a glance -at the pale face opposite, and a remembrance -of her Uncle Hayes propped up -in the great bed at Mitchelhurst. Would -those two spectres meet and bow, in some -dim underworld of graves and skeletons? -She could not picture them glorified in any -way, could not fancy them otherwise than -as she had known them. "Pray don't," -she said again.</p> - -<p>"Very well," said Reynold, "but why -not? It makes no difference. Still, talk of -what you please."</p> - -<p>"Does it hurt you to talk?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I believe it does. Everything -hurts me, and therefore nothing does. So -if you like it any better, it doesn't."</p> - -<p>"I won't keep you long," said Barbara. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> -"Perhaps I ought not to have come, but -I felt as if I could not leave England -without a word. You see, there is no -knowing how long I may be away—"</p> - -<p>"You were wise," said Reynold. "A -pleasant journey to you! But don't come -here to look for me when you come back. -The fire will be out, and the room will be -swept and garnished. This is a very chilly -room when it is swept and garnished."</p> - -<p>To Barbara it was a dim and suffocating -room at that moment. She hardly felt as -if it were really she who sat there, face to -face with that pale Rothwell shadow, and -she put up her hand and loosened the fur at -her throat.</p> - -<p>"You do not mind my coming now?" -she said, ignoring the latter half of his -speech. "You remember that evening? -You did not make me very welcome then." <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> -A tremulous little laugh ended the sentence.</p> - -<p>He shifted his position in the big chair -with a weary effort, and let his head fall -back. "It's different," he said. "Everything -is different. I was alive then—five-and-twenty—and -I was afraid you might -get yourself into some trouble on my -account—you had told me how the Mitchelhurst -people gossipped. <i>I</i> understood, but -they wouldn't have. Did the old man hear -of it?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Barbara; "he was ill so soon."</p> - -<p>Harding made a slight sign of comprehension. -"Well, it wouldn't be my business -to say anything now," he went on in -his hoarse low voice. "Besides, there is -nothing to say. If the Devil had a daughter, -she couldn't make any scandal out of an -afternoon call in my mother's house. She -couldn't suspect you of a flirtation with a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> -death's head. Visiting the sick—it is the -very pink of propriety."</p> - -<p>Barbara felt herself continually baffled. -And yet she could not accept her repulse. -There was something she wanted to say to -Mr. Harding, or rather, there was a word -she wanted him to say to her. If he would -but say it she would go, very gladly, for -the walls of the room, the heavy atmosphere, -and Reynold's eyes, weighed upon -her like a nightmare. He had likened her -once in his thoughts to a little brown-plumaged -bird, and she felt like a bird -that afternoon, a bird which had flown -into a gloomy cage, and sat, oppressed and -fascinated, with a palpitating heart. It -seemed to her that his eyes had been -upon her ever since she came in, and she -wanted a moment's respite.</p> - -<p>It came almost as soon as the thought <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> -had crossed her mind. Reynold coughed -painfully. She started to her feet, not -knowing what she ought to do, but a thin -hand, lifted in the air, signed to her to be -still. Presently the paroxysm subsided.</p> - -<p>"Don't you want anything?" she ventured -to ask.</p> - -<p>He shook his head. After a moment he -opened a little box on the table at his -elbow, and took out a lozenge. Barbara -dared not speak again. She looked at the -dull, smouldering fire. "Young man," she -said to herself with great distinctness, -"Young man, <i>I think</i> you're dying."</p> - -<p>She had the saddest heartache as she -thought of it. That for her there should -be life, London, Paris, the South—who -could tell what far-off cities and shores?—who -could tell how many years with -Adrian? Who could tell what beauty and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> -sweetness and music, what laughter and -tears, what dreams and wonders, what joys -and sorrows in days to come? While for -him, this man with whom she had built -castles in the air at Mitchelhurst, there -were only four drab walls, a slowly burning -fire, and a square grey picture of roofs and -chimneys, dim in the foggy air. That was -his share of the wide earth! No ease, no -love, no joy, no hope,—the mother-world -which was to her so bountifully kind, kept -nothing for him but a few dull wintry days. -Why must this be? And he was so young! -And there was so much life everywhere, -the earth was full of it, full to overflowing, -this busy London was a surging, tumultuous -sea of life about them, where they sat in -that dim hushed room. She raised her -head and looked timidly at the figure -opposite, pale as a spectre, half lying, half <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> -lolling in his leathern chair, while he sucked -his lozenge, and gazed before him with -downcast eyes. From him, at least, life -had ebbed hopelessly.</p> - -<p>"Young man, I think you're dying." -Oh, it was cruel, cruel! Barbara's thoughts -flashed from the sick room to her own -happiness—flashed home. She saw the -lawn at Sandmoor, and a certain tennis-player -standing in the shade of the big -tulip tree, as she had seen him often that -summer. He was in his white flannels, -he was flushed, smiling, his grey-blue eyes -were shining, he swung his racquet in his -hand as he talked. He was so handsome -and glad and young——ah! but no younger -than Reynold Harding! Suppose it had -been Adrian, and not Reynold, in the chair -yonder, and her happy dreams, instead of -being carried forward on the full flood <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> -of prosperity, had been left stranded and -wrecked, on the low, desolate shore of -death. It might have been Adrian passing -thus beyond recall, the sun might have -been dying out of her heaven, and at the -thought she turned away her head, to hide -the hot tears which welled into her eyes.</p> - -<p>"You are sorry for me," said Reynold.</p> - -<p>It was true, though the tears had not been -for him. "I'm sorry you are ill," she said. -She got up as she spoke, and stood by the fire.</p> - -<p>"Very kind, but very useless," he answered -with a smile.</p> - -<p>"Useless!" cried little Barbara. "I know -it is useless! I know I can't do anything! -But, Mr. Harding, we were friends once, -weren't we?"</p> - -<p>He was silent. "I thought we were?" -she faltered.</p> - -<p>"Friends—yes, if you like. We will <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> -say that we were—friends."</p> - -<p>"I thought we were," she repeated -humbly. "I don't mean to make too -much of it, but I thought we were very -good friends, as people say, till that unlucky -evening—that evening when you and -Uncle Hayes—you were angry with me -then!"</p> - -<p>"That's a long while ago."</p> - -<p>"It was my fault," she continued. "I -didn't mean any harm, but you had a right -to be vexed. And afterwards, that other -evening when I went to you—I don't know -what harm I did by forgetting your letter—you -would not tell me, but I know you -were angry. Afterwards, when I thought -of it, I could see that you had been keeping -it down all the time, you wouldn't reproach -me then and there," said Barbara, with -cheeks of flame, "but I understood when <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> -I looked back. It was only natural that -you should be angry. It was very good of -you not to say more."</p> - -<p>"I think it was," said Reynold, but so -indistinctly that Barbara, though she looked -questioningly at him, doubted whether she -heard the words.</p> - -<p>"It would be only natural if you hated -me," she went on, panting and eager, now -that she had once began to speak. "But -you mustn't, please, I can't bear it! I -have never quarrelled with any one, never -in all my life. I don't like to go away and -feel that I am leaving some one behind me -with whom I am not friends. So, Mr. -Harding, I want you just to say that you -don't hate me."</p> - -<p>"Oh, but you are making too much of -all that," he replied, and then, with an -invalid's abruptness, he asked, "Where's <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> -your talisman?"</p> - -<p>She looked down at her watch chain. -"I gave it to Mr. Scarlett, he liked it," -she said, with a guilty remembrance of -Reynold among the brambles. "But you -haven't answered me, Mr. Harding."</p> - -<p>Her pleading was persistent, like a child's. -She was childishly intent on the very word -she wanted. She remembered how her uncle -had laughed as she walked home after that -first encounter with young Harding. "And -you saw him roll into the ditch—Barbara, -the poor fellow must hate you like poison!" -No, he must not! It was the <i>word</i> she -could not bear, it was only the <i>word</i> she -knew.</p> - -<p>"Nonsense!" he said, moving his head -uneasily, "Let bygones be bygones. We -can't alter the past. We are going different -ways—go yours, and let me go mine in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> -peace."</p> - -<p>It was a harsh answer, but the frown -which accompanied it betrayed irresolution -as well as anger.</p> - -<p>"I can't go so," Barbara pleaded, emboldened -by this sign of possible yielding. -"I never meant to do any harm. Say you -are not angry—only one word—and then -I'll go."</p> - -<p>"I know you will." He laid his lean -hands on the arms of his chair, and drew -himself up. "Well," he said, "have it -your own way—why not? What is it that -I am to say?"</p> - -<p>"Say," she began eagerly, and then -checked herself. She would not ask too -much. "Say only that you don't hate me," -she entreated, fixing her eyes intently on -his face.</p> - -<p>"I love you, Barbara."</p> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p> - -<p>The girl recoiled, scared at the sudden -intensity of meaning in his eyes, and in -every line of his wasted figure as he leaned -towards her. His hoarse whisper sent a -shock through the deadened air of the -drab room. Those three words had broken -through the frozen silence of a life of -repression and self-restraint, in them was -distilled all its hoarded fierceness of love -and revenge. In uttering them Reynold -had uttered himself at last.</p> - -<p>To Barbara it was as if a flash of fire -showed her his passion, such a passion as -her gentle soul had never imagined, against -the outer darkness of death and his despair. -Something choked and frightened her, and -seemed to encircle her heart in its coils. -It was a revelation which came from within -as well as without. She threw out her -hands as if he approached her. "<i>Adrian!</i>" <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> -she cried.</p> - -<p>Reynold, leaning feebly on the arms of -his chair, laughed.</p> - -<p>"Well," he said, "are you content? I -have said it."</p> - -<p>"Oh," said Barbara, still gazing at him, -"I know now—I understand—you <i>do</i> hate -me!"</p> - -<p>"Love you," he repeated. "I think I -loved you from the day I saw you first. I -dreamed of you at Mitchelhurst—only of -you! Mitchelhurst for you, if you would -have it so—but you—<i>you</i>!"</p> - -<p>"No!" she cried.</p> - -<p>"And afterwards you were afraid of me! -If it had been any one else! But you -shrank from me—you were afraid of me—the -only creature in the world I loved! -And then that last night when you came -to me—how clever of you to discover that <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> -I was fighting with something I wanted -to keep down! So I was, Barbara!"</p> - -<p>He paused, but she only looked helplessly -into his eyes.</p> - -<p>"You don't know how hard it was," -he continued meaningly. "For if I had -chosen——"</p> - -<p>"No!" she cried again.</p> - -<p>"Yes! Do you think I did not know? -<i>Yes!</i> I might have had your promise -then! I might have had——"</p> - -<p>He checked himself, but she did not -attempt a second denial.</p> - -<p>"Well, enough of this," said Reynold, -after a moment. "It need not trouble you -long. Look in the <i>Times</i> and you will -soon see the end of it. But you can -remember, if you like, that one man loved -you, at any rate."</p> - -<p>"One man does," said Barbara, in a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> -voice which she tried to keep steady.</p> - -<p>"Ah, the other fellow. Well, you know -about that."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I know."</p> - -<p>"And you know that in spite of all I -<i>don't</i> hate you. No, I don't, though I dare -say you hate me for what I have said. -But I can't help that—you asked for it."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Barbara. "I wish I hadn't."</p> - -<p>"Forget it, then," he replied, with a -gleam of triumph in his glance.</p> - -<p>"You know I can't do that," she said.</p> - -<p>She was too young to know how much -may be forgotten with the help of time, -and it seemed to her that Reynold's eyes -would follow her to her dying day, that -wherever there were shadows and silence, -she would meet that reproachful, unsatisfied -gaze, and hear his voice.</p> - -<p>"You are very cruel!" she exclaimed.</p> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Am I?" he said more gently. "Poor -child! I never meant to speak of this. I -never could have spoken if you had not -come this afternoon. I could not have -told it to anybody but you, and you were -out of my reach. Why did you come? -You were quite safe if you had stayed -away. You should have left me to sting -myself to death in a ring of fire, as the -scorpions do—or don't! What made you -come inside the ring? It's narrow enough, -God knows—!" he looked round as he -spoke. "And you had all the world to -choose from. As far as I was concerned -you might have been in another planet. -I couldn't have reached you. What possessed -you to come here, to me? Well, -you <i>did</i>, and you are stung. Is it my -fault?"</p> - -<p>"No, mine!" said the girl, passionately. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> -"I never meant to hurt you, and you know -I didn't, but it has all gone wrong from -first to last. Anyhow, you have revenged -yourself now. I wish—I <i>wish</i> that you -were well, and strong, and rich——"</p> - -<p>"That you might have the luxury of -hating me? No, no, Barbara. I'm dying, -and no one in all the world will miss -me. I leave my memory to you."</p> - -<p>He smiled as he spoke, but his utterance -almost failed him, and Barbara's answer -was a sob.</p> - -<p>"I take it, then," she said in a choked -voice. "Perhaps I should have been too -happy if I had not known—I might never -have thought about other people. But I -sha'n't forget."</p> - -<p>Then she saw that he had sunk back -into his chair, and his face, which had -fallen on the dull red leather, was a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> -picture of death. The marble bust in -Mitchelhurst Church did not look more -bloodless.</p> - -<p>"Oh!" said Barbara, "you are tired!"</p> - -<p>"Mortally," he replied, faintly unclosing -his lips. "Good-bye."</p> - -<p>She paused for an instant, looking at -the dropped lids which hid those eyes -that she had feared. She could do nothing -for him but leave him. "Good-bye," she -said, very softly, as if she feared to disturb -his rest, and then she went away.</p> - -<p>The window on the stairs was a dim -grey shape. Barbara groped her way down, -and stood hesitating in the passage. It -was really only half a minute before the -maid came up from the basement with -matches to light the gas, but it was like -an age of dreary perplexity.</p> - -<p>"I've just left Mr. Harding," she said <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> -hurriedly to the girl, whose matter-of-fact -face was suddenly illuminated by the jet -of flame. "I'm afraid he's tired. I think -somebody ought to go to him."</p> - -<p>"Mind the step, miss," was the reply. -"I'll tell missis. I dare say he'll have -his cocoa, I think it's past the time."</p> - -<p>"Oh, <i>don't</i> wait for me!" cried Barbara. -"I'm all right."</p> - -<p>She felt as if Reynold Harding might -die by his fireside while she was being -ceremoniously shown out. She reached the -door first and shut it quickly after her, to -cut all attentions short. She had hurried -out at the gate, under the foggy outline -of a little laburnum, when a shout from -the pursuing cabman aroused her to the -consciousness that she had started off to -walk.</p> - -<p>Thus arrested, she got into the hansom, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> -covered with confusion, and not daring to -look at the man as she gave her address. -He must certainly think that she meant to -cheat him, or that she was mad. She -shrank back into the seat, feeling sure -that he would look through the little hole -in the roof, from time to time, to see -what his eccentric fare might be doing, -and she folded her hands and sat very -still, to impress him with the idea that she -had become quite sane and well-behaved. -As if it mattered what the cabman thought! -And yet she blushed over her blunder -while Reynold Harding's "I love you," -was still sounding in her ears, and while -the hansom rolled southward through the -lamp-lit, glimmering streets, to the tune -of <i>Barbara Allen</i>.</p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.<br /> - -<span class="subhead">JANUARY, 1883.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line outdent">"<i>A train of human memories,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>Crying: The past must never pass away.</i>"</div> -</div> -<div class="verse"> -<div class="line outdent">"<i>They depart and come no more,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>Or come as phantoms and as ghosts.</i>"</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>"When we are married," Adrian had -said on that blissful day in Nutfield Lane, -"before we go abroad, before we go <i>anywhere</i>, -we will run down to Mitchelhurst -for a day, won't we?"</p> - -<p>Barbara had agreed to this, as she would -have agreed to anything he had suggested, -and the plan had been discussed during -the summer months, till it seemed to -have acquired a kind of separate existence, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> -as if Adrian's light whim had been transformed -into Destiny. The bleak little -English village stood in the foreground of -their radiant honeymoon picture of Paris -and the south. The straggling rows of -cottages, the cabbage plots, the churchyard -where the damp earth, heavy with its -burden of death, rose high against the -buttressed wall, the blacksmith's forge with -its fierce rush of sparks, the <i>Rothwell Arms</i> -with the sign that swung above the door—were -all strangely distinct against a -bright confusion of far-off stir and gaiety, -white foreign streets, and skies and waters -of deepest blue. All their lives, if they -pleased, for that world beyond, but the -one day, first, for Mitchelhurst.</p> - -<p>Thus it happened that the careless fancy -of April was fulfilled in January. January -is a month which exhibits most English <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> -scenery to small advantage; and Mitchelhurst -wore its dreariest aspect when a fly -from the county town drew up beneath the -swaying sign. The little holiday couple, -stepping out of it into the midst of the -universal melancholy, looked somewhat out -of place. Adrian and Barbara had that -radiant consciousness of having done something -very remarkable indeed which characterises -newly-married pairs. They had -the usual conviction that an exceptional -perfection in their union made it the very -flower of all love in all time. They had -plucked this supremely delicate felicity, and -here they were, alighting with it from the -shabby conveyance, and standing in the -prosaic dirt of Mitchelhurst Street. The -sign gave a long, discordant creak by way -of greeting, and they started and looked up.</p> - -<p>"It wouldn't be worse for a little grease," <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> -the landlord allowed, in a voice which was -not much more melodious than the creaking -sign.</p> - -<p>Scarlett laughed, but he realised the -whole scene with an amusement which -had a slight flavour of dismay. Was -this the place which was to give his -honeymoon an added touch of poetry? -How poor and ignoble the houses were! -How bare and bleak the outlines of the -landscape! How low the dull, grey roof -of sky! How raw the January wind upon -his cheek! There was only a momentary -pause. Barbara was looking down the well-known -road, the bullet-headed landlord -scratched his unshaven chin, and the disconsolate -chickens came nearer and nearer, -pecking aimlessly among the puddles.</p> - -<p>"I suppose you can give us some -luncheon?" said the young man, and in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> -the interest of that important question it -hardly seemed as if there had been a pause -at all.</p> - -<p>The landlady arrived in a flurry, asking -what they would please to order, and -Adrian and she kept up a brisk dialogue -for the next five minutes. Finally, it was -decided that they should have chops. Perhaps -the discussion satisfied some traditional -sense of what was the right thing to do on -arriving at an inn. There was nothing to -have <i>but</i> the chops which Adrian had -chosen, and he murmured something of -"fixed fate, free-will" under his moustache, -as he crossed the road in the direction -of the church.</p> - -<p>"In an hour," he said. "That will give -us time to see the church and the village. -Then, after luncheon, we will go to the -old Place, and the fly shall call for us there, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> -and take us back the short way. Will that -do, Barbara?"</p> - -<p>Of course it would do; and when they -reached the churchyard she bade him wait -a moment and she would get the key. -The stony path to Mrs. Spearman's cottage -was curiously familiar—the broken palings, -the pump, the leafless alder-bush. The -only difference was that it was Barbara -Scarlett—a different person—who was -stepping over the rough pebbles.</p> - -<p>She returned to Adrian, who was leaning -against the gate-post.</p> - -<p>"Mitchelhurst isn't very beautiful," he -said, with an air of conviction. "I thought -I remembered it, but it has come upon -me rather as a shock. Somehow, I fancied—Barbara, -is it possible that I have taken -all the beauty out of it—that it belongs -to <i>me</i> now, instead of to Mitchelhurst? <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> -Can that be?"</p> - -<p>She smiled her answer to the question, -and then—</p> - -<p>"I think it looks very much as usual," -she said, gazing dispassionately round. "Of -course, it is prettier in the spring—or in -the summer. It was summer when you -came, you know."</p> - -<p>She had a vague recollection of having -pleaded the cause of Mitchelhurst at some -other time in the same way, which troubled -her a little.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I know it was summer," said -Adrian. "But still——"</p> - -<p>"You mustn't say anything against -Mitchelhurst," cried Barbara, swinging her -great key. "It isn't beautiful, but I feel -as if I belonged to it, somehow. It -changed me, I can't tell why or how, but -it did. After I had been six months <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> -with Uncle Hayes, I went home for a -fortnight in the spring, and everything -seemed so different. It was all so bright -and busy there, everybody talked so fast -about little everyday things, and the rooms -were so small and crowded. I suppose it -was because I had been living with echoes -and old pictures in that great house. -Louisa and Hetty were always having -little secrets and jokes, there wasn't any -harm in them, you know, but I felt as if I -could not care about them or laugh at -them, and yet some of them had been my -jokes, before I went to Mitchelhurst. And -I could not make them understand why I -cared about the Rothwells and their pictures, -when I had never known any of them."</p> - -<p>"Louisa is a very nice girl," said -Scarlett; "but if Mitchelhurst is all the -difference between you two, I am bound <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> -to say that I have a high opinion of the -place."</p> - -<p>"Well, I don't know any other difference."</p> - -<p>"Don't you?" and he smiled as he followed -her along the churchyard path. "No -other difference? None?" He smiled, and -yet he knew that the old house had given -a charm to Barbara when he saw her first. -She had been like a little damask rose, -breathing and glowing against its grim -walls. He took the key from her hand, -and turned it in the grating lock.</p> - -<p>It seemed as if the very air were unchanged -within, so heavy and still it was. -Barbara went forward, and her little footfalls -were hardly audible on the matting. -Adrian, with his head high, sniffed in search -of a certain remembered perfume, as of -mildewed hymn-books, found it, and was -content. It brought back to him, as only <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> -an odour could, his first afternoon in the -church, when he stood with one of those -books in his hand, and watched the Rothwell -pew which held Barbara.</p> - -<p>Having enjoyed his memory he faced -round and inspected St. Michael, who was -as new, and neat, and radiant as ever. -Adrian speculated how long it would take -to make him look a little less of a parvenu. -"Would a couple of centuries do him any -good, I wonder?" he mused, half-aloud. -"Not much, I fear." The archangel returned -his gaze with a permanent serenity -which seemed to imply that a century more -or less was a matter of indifference to his -dragon and him.</p> - -<p>Barbara had gone straight to the Rothwell -monuments, where Scarlett presently -joined her. She did not take her eyes from -the tombs, but she stole a warm little hand <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> -under his arm. "I wish he could have -been buried here," she said in a low voice.</p> - -<p>Reynold had said that he bequeathed her -his memory, but now, in her happiness, it -seemed to be receding, fading, melting away. -She gazed helplessly in remorseful pain; he -was only a chilly phantom; the very fierceness -of his passion was but a dying spark -of fire. She could recall his words, but -they were dull and faint, like echoes nearly -spent. She could not recall their meaning—that -was gone. The declaration of love -which had burst upon her like a great wave, -filling her with pity and wonder and fear, -had ebbed to some unapproachable distance, -leaving her perplexed and half incredulous. -Adrian, in flesh and blood, was at her side, -and she thrilled and glowed at his touch; -but when she thought of Reynold Harding -she met only a vague emptiness. He was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> -not with the Rothwells in this quiet corner; -he was not where she had left him, lying -back in his leathern chair. That room was -swept and garnished and cold, as he had -said. No doubt they had put him in some -suburban cemetery, some wilderness of -graves which to her was only a name of -dreariness. Standing where he had once -stood in Mitchelhurst Church, she only felt -his absence, and she thought that she could -have recalled him better if he had been at -rest beneath the dimly-lettered pavement -on which her eyes were fixed.</p> - -<p>She was wrong. Memories cannot bear -the outer air, or be laid away in the cold -earth; they can only live when they are -hidden in our hearts, and quickened by our -pulses. Barbara could not keep the remembrance -of Reynold's love alive, with no -love of her own to warm it. But in her <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> -ignorance she said, wistfully—</p> - -<p>"I wish he could have been buried here!" -and then added in a quicker tone, "I suppose -you'll say it makes no difference where -he lies."</p> - -<p>"Indeed I sha'n't," said Adrian. "There -may be beauty or ugliness, fitness or unfitness, -in one's last home as well as any -other. Yes, I wish he were here. But he -was an unlucky fellow; it seemed as if he -were never to have anything he wanted, -didn't it?"</p> - -<p>"How do you mean—not anything?"</p> - -<p>"Well, I think he would have liked -Mitchelhurst Place."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Barbara, "he would, I -know."</p> - -<p>"And I am sure he would have liked -the name of Rothwell. He was ashamed -of his father's people. That pork-butcher <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> -rankled."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" said Barbara, still looking at -the tombs, "did you know about that? -Did everybody know?" She spoke very -softly, as if she thought the dusty Rothwell, -peering out of his marble curls, might -overhear. "No, I suppose he didn't like -him."</p> - -<p>"I know he didn't. Well, he hadn't the -name he liked: he was saddled with the -pork-butcher's name. And then, worst of -all, he couldn't have you, Barbara!"</p> - -<p>She turned upon him with parted lips -and a startled face.</p> - -<p>"Well," said Scarlett, "he couldn't, you -know."</p> - -<p>"Adrian! how did you know he cared -for me? He did, but how did you know it? -I thought I ought not to tell anybody."</p> - -<p>"I saw him once," said Scarlett, "and I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> -found it out. I saw him again—just passed -him in the road, and we did not say a word. -But I was doubly sure, if that were possible. -Poor devil! If he could have had his way -we should not have met in the lane that -day, Barbara."</p> - -<p>"I never dreamed of it," she said. "I -thought he hated me."</p> - -<p>"If a girl thinks a man hates her," said -Adrian, "I suppose the chances are he does -one thing or the other."</p> - -<p>"I never dreamed of it," she repeated, -"never, till he told me at the end. It -could not be my fault, could it, as I did -not know? But it seemed so cruel—so -hard! He had cared for me all the time, he -said, and nobody had ever cared for him."</p> - -<p>"You mustn't be unhappy about that," -said Scarlett, gently.</p> - -<p>"But that's just it!" Barbara exclaimed, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> -plaintively. "I ought to be unhappy, and -I can't be. Adrian! I've got all the happiness—a -whole world full of it—and he -had none. I must be a heartless wretch -to stand here, and think of him, and be -so glad because——"</p> - -<p>Because her hand was on Adrian's arm.</p> - -<p>"My darling," he said, in a tone half -tenderly jesting, half earnest, "you mustn't -blame yourself for this. What had you to -do with it? Do you think you could have -made that poor fellow happy?"</p> - -<p>She looked at him perplexed.</p> - -<p>"He loved me," she said.</p> - -<p>"I know he did. You might have given -him a momentary rapture if you had loved -him. But make him happy—not you! -Not anybody, Barbara! How could you -look at his face, and not see that he -carried his unhappiness about with him? <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> -I verily believe that there was no place -on the earth's surface where he could have -been at peace. Underneath it—perhaps!"</p> - -<p>Barbara sighed, looking down at the -stones.</p> - -<p>"You people with consciences blame -yourselves for things foredoomed," said -Scarlett. "Harding's destiny was written -before you were born, my dear child. -Besides," he added, in a lighter tone, -"what would you do with the pair of us?"</p> - -<p>"That's true," she said, thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>"Take my word for it," he went on, "if -you want to do any good you should give -happiness to the people who are fit for it. -You can brighten my life—oh, my darling, -you don't know how much! But his—never! -If you were an artist you might -as well spend your best work in painting -angels and roses on the walls of the family <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> -vault down here as try it."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Barbara. Then, after a -pause, she spoke with a kind of sob in her -voice, "But if one had thrown in just a -flower before the door was shut! I -couldn't, you know, I hadn't anything to -give him!"</p> - -<p>Scarlett, by way of answer, laid his hand -on hers. When you come face to face with -such an undoubted fact as the attraction a -man's lonely suffering has for a woman, -argument is useless. It is an ache for -which self-devotion is the only relief. He -perfectly understood the remorseful workings -of Barbara's tender heart.</p> - -<p>"I couldn't do without you, my dear," -he said.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Adrian!—no!" she exclaimed. -"That day when I said good-bye to him, -he fancied I was crying for him once, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> -even that was for you. I was just thinking, -if it had been you sitting there!"</p> - -<p>"Foolish child! I'm not to be got rid -of so easily."</p> - -<p>"Don't talk of it!" said Barbara.</p> - -<p>Her hand tightened on his arm, and she -looked up at him, with a glance that said -plainly that the sun would drop out of her -sky if any mischance befell him.</p> - -<p>"Well," she said, after a minute, more in -her ordinary voice, as if she were dismissing -Reynold Harding from the conversation, -"I'm glad you know. I wanted you to -know, but of course I could not tell you."</p> - -<p>"It's wonderful with women," said Adrian, -gliding easily into generalities, "the things -they <i>don't</i> think it necessary to tell us, -taking it for granted that we know them, -and we <i>can't</i> know them and <i>don't</i> know -them to our dying day—and the things <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> -they <i>do</i> think it necessary to tell us, with -elaborate precautions and explanations—which -we knew perfectly well from the -first."</p> - -<p>"Oh, is that it?" Barbara replied, smartly. -"Then I shall tell you everything, and you -can be surprised or not as you please."</p> - -<p>"I sha'n't be much surprised," said -Adrian, "unless, perhaps, you tell me -something when you think you are not -telling anything at all."</p> - -<p>And with this they went off together to -look at the seat in which he sat when -Barbara saw him first, and then she stood -in her old place in the Rothwells' red-lined -pew, and looked across at him, recalling -that summer Sunday. It would have been -a delightful amusement if the church had -been a few degrees warmer, but Barbara -could not help shivering a little, and Adrian <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> -frankly avowed that he found it impossible -to maintain his feelings at the proper pitch.</p> - -<p>"I'm blue," he said, "and I'm iced, and -I can't be sentimental. And you wore a -thin cream-coloured dress that day, which -is terrible to think of. Might write something -afterwards, perhaps," he continued, -musingly. "Not while my feet are like -two stones, but I feel as if I might thaw -into a sonnet, or something of the kind."</p> - -<p>Barbara looked up at him reverentially, -and Adrian began to laugh.</p> - -<p>"Let's go and eat those chops," he said.</p> - -<p>Later, as they walked along the street -towards Mitchelhurst Place, Scarlett was -silent for a time, glancing right and left -at the dull cottages. Here and there one -might catch a glimpse of firelight through -the panes, but most of them were drearily -blank, with grey windows and closed doors. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> -It was too cold for the straw-plaiters to -stand on their thresholds and gossip while -they worked. There was a foreshadowing -of snow in the low-hanging clouds.</p> - -<p>"What are you thinking of?" Barbara -asked him.</p> - -<p>"Don't let us ever come here again!" -he answered. "It's all very well for this -once; we are young enough, we have our -happiness before us. But never again! -Suppose we were old and sad when we -came back, or suppose——" He stopped -short. "Suppose one came back alone," -should have been the ending of that -sentence.</p> - -<p>"Very well," she agreed hastily, as if -to thrust aside the unspoken words.</p> - -<p>"We say our good-bye to Mitchelhurst -to-day, then?" Adrian insisted.</p> - -<p>"Yes. There won't be any temptation <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> -to come again, if what they told us is -true—will there?"</p> - -<p>She referred to a rumour which they -had heard at the <i>Rothwell Arms</i>, that as -Mr. Croft could not find a tenant for the -Place he meant to pull it down.</p> - -<p>"No," said Scarlett. "It seems a shame, -though," he added.</p> - -<p>Presently they came in sight of the -entrance—black bars, and beyond them a -stirring of black boughs in the January -wind, over the straight, bleak roadway to -the house. The young man pushed the -gate. "Some one has been here to-day," -he said, noting a curve already traced on -the damp earth.</p> - -<p>"Some one to take the house, perhaps," -Barbara suggested. "Look, there's a carriage -waiting out to the right of the door. -I wish they hadn't happened to choose <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> -this very day. I would rather have had -the old Place to ourselves, wouldn't you?"</p> - -<p>"Much," said Adrian.</p> - -<p>These young people were still in that -ecstatic mood in which, could they have -had the whole planet to themselves, it -would never have occurred to them that -it was lonely. Their eyes met as they -answered, and if at that moment the -wind-swept avenue had been transformed -into sunlit boughs of blossoming orange, -they might not have remarked any accession -of warmth and sweetness.</p> - -<p>The old woman who was in charge recognised -Barbara, and made no difficulty about -allowing them to wander through the rooms -at their leisure. In fact, she was only too -glad not to leave her handful of fire on -such a chilly errand.</p> - -<p>"Is it true," Mrs. Scarlett asked eagerly, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> -"that Mr. Croft is going to pull the -house down?"</p> - -<p>"So they tell me, ma'am. There's to -be a sale here, come Midsummer, and after -that they say the old Place comes down. -There's nobody to take it now poor Mr. -Hayes is gone."</p> - -<p>Adrian's glance quickened at the mention -of a sale, and then he recalled his expressed -intention never to come to Mitchelhurst -again. "Perhaps he'll find a tenant before -then," he said. "You've got somebody -here to-day, haven't you?"</p> - -<p>The woman started in sudden remembrance. -"Oh, there's a lady," she said, "I -most forgot her. She said she was one -of the old family, and used to live here. -My orders are to go round with 'em when -they come to look at the house, but the -lady didn't want nobody, she said, she <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> -knew her way, and she walked right off.</p> - -<p>"I hope it ain't nothing wrong, but -she's been gone some time."</p> - -<p>"I should think it was quite right," -said Scarlett. "Come, Barbara."</p> - -<p>They went from room to room. All -were silent, empty, and cold, with shutters -partly unclosed, letting in slanting gleams -of grey light. The painted eyes of the -portraits on the wall looked askance at -them as they stood gazing about. All the -little modern additions which Mr. Hayes -had made to the furniture for comfort's -sake had been taken away, and the Rothwells -had come into possession of their own -again.</p> - -<p>Scarlett opened the old piano as he -passed. "Do you remember?" he said, -glancing brightly, and with a smile curving -his red lips, as he began, with one hand, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> -to touch a familiar tune. But Barbara -cried "Hush!" and the tinkling, jangling -notes died suddenly into the stillness. -"Suppose she were to hear!"</p> - -<p>"I wonder where she is," he rejoined, -with a glance round. "She must have -come to say good-bye to her old home, -too."</p> - -<p>There was no sign of her as they crossed -the hall (where Barbara's great clock had -long ago run down) and went up the wide, -white stairs. But it was curious how they -felt her unseen presence, and how the -knowledge that at any moment they might -turn a corner and encounter that living -woman, made the place more truly haunted -than if it had held a legion of ghosts. -They walked in silence, like a couple of -half-frightened children, along the passages, -and the remembrance that the old house <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> -was doomed was with them all the time. -It was strange to lay their warm light -hands on those strong walls, which had -outlasted so many lives, so much hope, -and so much hopelessness, and to think -that they, in their fragile, happy existence -might well remain when Mitchelhurst Place -was forgotten. It seemed hardly more than -a phantom house already.</p> - -<p>"I almost think she must have gone," -Barbara whispered, as they came down-stairs -again.</p> - -<p>"No," said Adrian, with an oblique -glance which her eyes followed.</p> - -<p>Kate Harding was standing by one of -the windows in the entrance hall, a stately -figure in heavy draperies of black. Hearing -the steps of the intruders she turned -slightly, and partially confronted them, and -the light fell on her face, pale and proud, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> -close-lipped, full of mute and dreary -defiance. Only she herself knew the -passionate eagerness with which, as a girl, -she had renounced her old home—only -she knew the strange power with which -Mitchelhurst had drawn her back once -more. Fate had been too strong for her, -and she had returned to her own place, -perhaps to the thought of the son who -had belonged more to it than to her. -Her presence there that day was a -confession of defeat too bitter to be -spoken, a last homage of farewell to the -old house which she was not rich enough -to save.</p> - -<p>Her eyes, resting indifferently on the -girl's face, widened in sudden recognition, -and she looked from Barbara to Adrian. -Her glance enveloped the young couple -in its swift intensity, and then fell coldly <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> -to the pavement as she bent her head. -Barbara blushed and drooped, Scarlett -bowed, as they passed the motionless -woman, drawn back a little against the -wall, with the faded map of the great -Mitchelhurst estate hanging just behind -her.</p> - -<p>Their fly was waiting at the door, and -in less than a minute they were rolling -quickly down the avenue. Adrian, stooping -to tuck a rug about his wife's feet, only -raised himself in time to catch a last -glimpse of the white house front, and to -cry, "Good-bye, Mitchelhurst!" Barbara -echoed his good-bye. Mitchelhurst was -only an episode in her life; she cared for -the place, yet she was not sorry to escape -from its shadows of loves and hates, too -deep and dark for her, and its unconquerable -melancholy. She left it, but a touch of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> -its sadness would cling to her in after -years, giving her the tenderness which -comes from a sense—dim, perhaps, but all-pervading—of -the underlying suffering of -the world. She looked back and saw her -happiness tossed lightly and miraculously -from crest to crest of the black waves -which might have engulfed it in a moment; -and even as she leaned in the warm -shelter of Adrian's arm, she was sorry -for the lives that were wrecked, and broken, -and forgotten.</p> - -<p>"Look!" he said quickly, as the road -wound along the hill-side, and a steep -bank, crowned with leafless thorns and -brown stunted oaks, rose on the right, -"this is where I said good-bye to you, -Barbara, and you never knew it!"</p> - -<p>"Never!" she cried. "No, I thought -you had gone away, and hadn't cared to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> -say good-bye."</p> - -<p>"Well, you were kinder to me than you -knew. You left me a bunch of red berries -lying in the road."</p> - -<p>"Ah, but if I had known you were -there!"</p> - -<p>"Why," said Adrian, "you wouldn't -have left me anything at all. You would -have died first! You know you would! -It was better as it was."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps," she allowed.</p> - -<p>"Anyhow, it is best as it is," said he -conclusively, and to that she agreed; but -her smile was followed by a quick little -sigh.</p> - -<p>"What does that mean?" he demanded, -tenderly.</p> - -<p>"Nothing," she said, "nothing, <i>really</i>."</p> - -<p>It was nothing. Only, absorbed in -picturing Adrian's mute farewell, she had <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> -passed the place where she first saw Reynold -Harding, and had not spared him -one thought as she went by. And she -was never coming to Mitchelhurst again.</p> - - -<p class="center">THE END.</p> - - -<p class="center"> -<i>Clay and Taylor, Printers, Bungay, Suffolk.</i><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center">Transcriber's Notes</p> - -<p class="center">Spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been standardised.</p> -</div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Mitchelhurst Place, Vol. II, by Margaret Veley - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MITCHELHURST PLACE, VOL. II *** - -***** This file should be named 52002-h.htm or 52002-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/0/0/52002/ - -Produced by Robert Cicconetti, David K. 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