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diff --git a/75404-h/75404-h.htm b/75404-h/75404-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..112f4f9 --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/75404-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8557 @@ +<!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=utf-8" /> + <title>The Distributed Proofreaders eBook of Aunt Anne Vol. 2, by Mrs. W. K. Clifford</title> + <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg"/> + <meta name="cover" content="images/cover.jpg" /> + <meta name="DC.Title" content="Aunt Anne, Vol. 2"/> + <meta name="DC.Creator" content="Mrs. W. K. Clifford"/> + <meta name="DC.Language" content="en"/> + <meta name="DC.Created" content="1892"/> + <meta name="DC.Subject" content="fiction"/> + <meta name="DC.date.issued" content="1892"/> + <meta name="Tags" content="fiction, romance"/> + <meta name="DC.Publisher" content="Distributed Proofreaders"/> + <meta name="Series" content="Aunt Anne [2]"/> + <meta name="generator" content="fpgen 4.65"/> + <style type="text/css"> + body { margin-left:8%;margin-right:10%; } + .it { font-style:italic; } + .sc { font-variant:small-caps; } + p { text-indent:0; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em; + text-align: justify; } + div.lgc { } + div.lgc p { text-align:center; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; } + div.lgp { + display:inline-block; + text-align: left; + } + + div.lgp p { + text-align:left; + margin-top:0; + margin-bottom:0; + } + + .poetry-container { + text-align:center; + } + + h1 { + text-align:center; + font-weight:normal; + page-break-before: always; + font-size:1.2em; margin:2em auto 1em auto + } + + + .dropcap { + float:left; + clear: left; + margin:0 0.1em 0 0; + padding:0; + line-height: 1.0em; + font-size: 200%; + } + + + .lead-in { + font-variant: small-caps; + } + + hr.tbk { border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width:30%; margin-left:35%; margin-right:35%; } + hr.pbk { border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; width:100%; margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:2em } + .figcenter { + text-align:center; + margin:1em auto; + page-break-inside: avoid; + } + + div.blockquote { margin:1em 2em; text-align:justify; } + p.line { text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; } + div.lgp p.line0 { text-indent:-3em; margin:0 auto 0 3em; } + .pindent { margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-indent:1.5em; } + .noindent { margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-indent:0; } + .hang { padding-left:1.5em; text-indent:-1.5em; } + </style> + <style type="text/css"> + p {margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; text-indent:1.5em;} + h1 {font-family: serif; font-size:2em; text-align:center; + margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:1em; } + hr.tbk { border:none; border-bottom:1px solid; + width:30%; margin-left:35%; margin-right:35%; + margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; visibility:hidden;} + .dropcap {font-size: 400%; margin:0em 0.1em 0 0; } + .pageno {visibility:hidden; } + .poetry-container {text-align:center; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 0.75em;} + </style> + </head> + <body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75404 ***</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='cover' id='iid-0000' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='lgc' style='margin-top:3em;margin-bottom:1em;'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<p class='line' style='margin-bottom:1em;font-size:3em;'><span class='sc'>Aunt Anne.</span></p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line' style='font-size:2em;'><span class='it'>By Mrs. W. K. Clifford</span>,</p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'><span style='font-size:smaller'><span class='it'>Author of “Mrs. Keith’s Crime,” etc.</span></span></p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +</div> <!-- end rend --> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<div class='stanza-inner'> +<p class='line0'>“As less the olden glow abides,</p> +<p class='line0'>   And less the chillier heart aspires,</p> +<p class='line0'> With driftwood beached in past spring-tides</p> +<p class='line0'>   We light our sullen fires.”</p> +<p class='line0' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;'><span class='sc'>James Russell Lowell.</span></p> +</div> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +<div class='lgc' style='margin-top:3em;margin-bottom:3em;'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<p class='line'>In Two Volumes.</p> +<p class='line'>Vol. II.</p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'>London:</p> +<p class='line'><span style='font-size:larger'>Richard Bentley & Son,</span></p> +<p class='line'>Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen.</p> +<p class='line'>1892.</p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'><span style='font-size:smaller'>(All rights reserved.)</span></p> +</div> <!-- end rend --> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/chap01.jpg' alt='sea coast scene with a fence running into the water' id='iid-0001' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:2em;font-size:2.5em;'>AUNT ANNE.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER I.</h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='lead-in'><img class='dropcap' src='images/capp.jpg' style='float:left;width:5%;' alt='P'/>ortsea Place, Connaught Square,</span> +is composed of very small houses, +most of which are let out in apartments. It +was to one of these that Mrs. Baines drove +on her arrival in town. Her two canvas-covered +boxes, carefully corded, were on the +top of the cab, her many small packages +piled up inside. Mr. Wimple was not with +her. He had left her at Waterloo, but it +had been arranged that he was to see her +later on in Portsea Place, and that if she +failed to take rooms there, she was to leave +a message where she was to be found.</p> + +<p>“Well, Mrs. Hooper,” she said to the +landlady, smilingly, but with the condescending +air of a patroness, “you see I have not +forgotten you, and if your rooms are still at +liberty I should like to inspect them again.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am, certainly they are at liberty,” +said Mrs. Hooper, who felt convinced that, +in spite of the shabby cloak with the clasp, +the spare old lady must be some grand +personage in disguise. “I shall be only too +glad if they please you.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Baines inspected them carefully, two +little rooms on the drawing-room floor, a bedroom +and a sitting-room. She looked at the +pictures, she winked at herself in the looking-glass, +she gently shook the side-table to see +if it was rickety. She tried the springs of +the easy-chair, and the softness of the sofa +cushions. She asked if the chimney had +been properly swept, and whether there was +a draught from the windows.</p> + +<p>“I think a guinea a week is an ample +rent, Mrs. Hooper, considering that it is not +the season,” she said. “However, I will +take the rooms for a week.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t usually let them for so short a +time,” the landlady began meekly.</p> + +<p>“I might not require them for longer,” +answered Mrs. Baines distantly, “but I can +make them suit my purpose for a week.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, ma’am,” and Mrs. Hooper +gave way, overawed by Aunt Anne’s unflinching +manner. “Would you like a fire +lighted?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, and at once; but first will you +be good enough to have the luggage carried +in? And tell the cabman to wait; he can +drive me to Portman Square. There will be +a gentleman here to dinner to-night.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t think you would want late +dinner, ma’am; ladies so often have tea and +something with it—and company the first +night——” but the landlady stopped with a +little dismay in her voice, for Mrs. Baines +looked displeased.</p> + +<p>“I am accustomed to dining late,” she +said haughtily, feeling acutely the superiority +of her own class, “and I have frequent +visitors. Cabman, will you put those boxes +into the bedroom?—and be careful not to +knock the walls. They are so often careless,” +she said, with a smile to the landlady +that completely subjugated her, “and it is so +very annoying to have one’s place injured.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am, it is,” Mrs. Hooper replied +gratefully. “If you will give your orders +we will get in what you want for this evening +while you are gone to Portman Square.” +The address had evidently impressed her.</p> + +<p>“I must consider for a moment,” and Aunt +Anne sat down and was silent. Then she +ordered a little dinner that she thought +would be after the heart of Mr. Wimple, and +gave many domestic directions; and with +“I trust to you to make everything exceedingly +comfortable, Mrs. Hooper,” departed +in a four-wheeled cab.</p> + +<p>Sir William Rammage lived in a big +house in Portman Square. The windows +looked dull, the blinds dingy, the door-step +deserted. Half the square seemed to hear +the knock which Mrs. Baines gave at the +double door. A servant in an old-fashioned +black suit appeared with an air of surprise.</p> + +<p>“Is Sir William Rammage at home?” +Mrs. Baines asked. The man looked her +swiftly up and down.</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>“I wish to see him,” she said, and walked +into the wide stone hall, before the servant +could prevent her.</p> + +<p>“It’s quite impossible, ma’am,” he said +firmly; “Sir William keeps his room, and +is too ill to see any one.”</p> + +<p>“You will be good enough to take him +my card,” Mrs. Baines said. “If he is able +to do so, you will find that he will see +me.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll take it to Mr. Boughton, ma’am,” +said the man hesitatingly, for he was overcome +by the visitor’s imperious manner; +“he has been with Sir William just now, and +will know if it is possible for any one to see +him.”</p> + +<p>“Who is Mr. Boughton?” she asked, +almost contemptuously.</p> + +<p>“He is Sir William’s solicitor.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, that will do,” said Mrs. Baines, +and she was shown into a large empty +dining-room, that looked as grim and gloomy +as the outside of the house had promised +that all should be within. In a few minutes +he returned.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Boughton will be with you directly, +ma’am,” he said respectfully.</p> + +<p>In five minutes’ time there appeared a +little dried-up man, bald and shrewd-looking, +but with a kindly expression in his pinky +face.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Boughton,” Mrs. Baines said, “I +am most glad to make your acquaintance;” +and she shook hands. “Is it possible to see +Sir William Rammage? He is my cousin, +and we have known each other since we +were children together.”</p> + +<p>“Quite impossible, my dear madam, quite +impossible,” the lawyer answered briskly.</p> + +<p>“Is he very ill?”</p> + +<p>“Very seriously ill.”</p> + +<p>“Dear William,” the old lady said tearfully, +“I feared it was so. I knew him too +well to suppose that he would leave my +letters unanswered had it been otherwise.”</p> + +<p>“If it is any business matter, madam, I +am his confidential lawyer, and have been +for thirty years.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Boughton, I am Sir William’s own +first cousin; our mothers were sisters,” Mrs. +Baines said with deep emotion.</p> + +<p>“Dear me, dear me,” answered the lawyer +thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“When we were children we were rocked +in the same cradle.”</p> + +<p>“Most touching, I am sure;” and still he +appeared to be turning something over in +his mind.</p> + +<p>“I know that he has a sincere affection +for me, but of late years he has been so +frequently indisposed that he has not been +able to show it as he wished.”</p> + +<p>“Frequently the case, my dear lady, +frequently the case,” Mr. Boughton said +soothingly. “May I ask you to tell me +what other members of his family survive? +I am a little uncertain in the matter.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Boughton, I am his mother’s sister’s +child, and the nearest relation he has in the +world. The others have been dead and +gone these many years. There may be +some distant cousins left, but we have never +recognized them.”</p> + +<p>“I understand,” he said; “most interesting. +And you wish to see him on family business, +I presume?”</p> + +<p>“I did.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry to refuse you, my dear lady, +but I am afraid he is too ill to see you.”</p> + +<p>“I am not rich,” Aunt Anne began, and +her voice faltered a little; “and he promised +to make me an allowance.”</p> + +<p>“He has never done so yet?”</p> + +<p>“No,” she said sadly, “he has had it under +consideration. Perhaps he was reflecting +what would be an adequate sum to defray +my necessary expenses.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps so,” Mr. Boughton said thoughtfully. +“If you will excuse me one moment, +I will inquire if by any possibility my client +can see you;” and he left the room.</p> + +<p>But in a few minutes he returned.</p> + +<p>“It is quite out of the question,” he +explained, “quite. I don’t wish to distress +you, but I fear that our friend is much too +ill to attend for some time to his worldly +affairs.”</p> + +<p>“I have been waiting many months for his +decision,” the old lady said, with a world of +pain in her voice; “it has been most difficult +to maintain my position.”</p> + +<p>“Quite so, quite so, my dear lady, and I +feel sure that Sir William would wish this +matter to be attended to without delay. I +think I understand you to be the daughter of +his mother’s sister——”</p> + +<p>“His dear mother’s sister Harriet.”</p> + +<p>“Quite so,” and Mr. Boughton nodded +approvingly. “Well, my dear lady, suppose +I take it upon myself, having the management +of his affairs for the present, to allow +you just a hundred a year, say, till he is able +to settle matters himself. Would that enable +you to await his recovery, or——”</p> + +<p>A little lump came into Aunt Anne’s +throat, a slow movement of satisfaction to +her left eye; her voice was unsteady when +she spoke.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Boughton,” she said, “I know Sir +William will be most grateful to you. My +circumstances must have been the cause of +much anxiety to him.”</p> + +<p>“Then we will consider the matter arranged +until he is in a condition to attend to it himself +or—by the way, would you like to have +a cheque at once?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps it would be advisable,” Aunt +Anne said, but she seemed unable to go +on. Try to conceal it as she would, the +sudden turn in her fortune was too much +for her.</p> + +<p>“You must forgive me,” she said gently, +sitting down, “I have had a journey from +the country, and I am not so young as I was +years ago;” she looked up with a little smile, +as if to belie her words.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” answered Mr. Boughton, +feelingly. “Age is a malady we all inherit +if we live long enough. Let me get you a +glass of wine; there is some excellent port in +the sideboard;” and in a moment he found a +decanter and, having filled a glass, handed it +to her. But she shook her head while she +looked up at him gratefully.</p> + +<p>“You must forgive me,” she said, “port +wine is always pernicious to me.” But he +persuaded her to take a little sip, and then +the glass was set down beside her while he +wrote the cheque.</p> + +<p>“You will tell dear William,” she said, +“when he is well enough, with what solicitude +I think of him. And, Mr. Boughton, you +must permit me to say how much indebted +I feel to your courtesy, and to the consideration +with which you have treated me.”</p> + +<p>Five minutes later Mrs. Baines was walking +along Portman Square, feeling like a +woman in a dream, or a millionaire carrying +his entire capital. She bought some flowers, +on her way back, to put on the little dinner +table in Portsea Place, and two little red +candle-shades, for with characteristic quickness +she had noticed the old-fashioned plated +candlesticks on the mantelpiece, and remembered +that gas above the table was unbecoming; +and then she bought a yard or two of +lace to wear round her throat, feeling a little +ashamed and yet happy while she did so. +She thought of her lover, and looked longingly +round the shop; but there was nothing +that even she could imagine would be an +acceptable present to a man.</p> + +<p>“Welcome, my darling,” she said to him, +when he arrived an hour or two later; “this +is the first time I have had the happiness of +receiving you in a place of my own. I trust +our repast will be ready punctually.”</p> + +<p>“How is Sir William Rammage?” he +asked.</p> + +<p>“In a most precarious condition.”</p> + +<p>“No better?”</p> + +<p>“From what I could gather, Alfred, he +must be worse,” and she spoke solemnly.</p> + +<p>“Whom did you see?”</p> + +<p>“I saw a solicitor, Mr. Boughton.”</p> + +<p>“That is my uncle; and he said he was +worse?”</p> + +<p>“He was so ill, Alfred, that Mr. Boughton +even paid me my quarter’s income out of his +own pocket.” A little smile hovered on Mr. +Wimple’s face.</p> + +<p>“You didn’t say anything about me?”</p> + +<p>“No, my darling; you had desired me +not to mention your name and that was +sufficient.”</p> + +<p>“And he paid you out of his own pocket?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my love, he was most anxious that +I should not be inconvenienced; but our +repast is ready. Come,” and she motioned +him to the place opposite her, and with +happy dignity went to the head of the table. +“I hope you will do it justice.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Wimple ate his dinner with much +solemnity. He always accepted his food as +if it was a responsibility that demanded his +most serious attention. Presently he looked +at her across the dinner-table, at the lace +about her throat, at the little crinkly gold +brooch, which Florence had seen first years +before at Rottingdean, at the lines and +wrinkles that marked the tender old face, +at the thin white hands with the loose skin +and the blue veins; but no expression came +into his dull full eyes. When the meal was +over he got up and stood by the fireplace.</p> + +<p>“My dear one,” she said, “are you tired +with the journey?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Did you find your rooms quite comfortable +and ready for you?” she asked, +and went over to his side.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he answered with the little gulp +peculiar to him. He seemed to be considering +something of which he was uncertain +whether to speak or be silent. But he kept +his eyes fixed full upon her.</p> + +<p>“Are they in the Gray’s Inn Road, dear +Alfred?”</p> + +<p>“Near there,” he said, and his lips closed. +For a minute he was silent. Her eyes +dropped beneath his gaze, she seemed to be +trembling, and fragile—oh, so fragile, a little +gust of wind might have swept the slight +thin form away. He opened his lips to +speak, but no sound came from them.</p> + +<p>“You are so thoughtful,” she asked gently; +“I have not vexed you?”</p> + +<p>“No;” and there was a long pause. +Then he spoke again.</p> + +<p>“Anne,” he said, and went a little further +from her, “I think perhaps it would be as +well if we were married at once.” The tears +came into her eyes, her mouth twitched, there +was a pause before she found words to speak.</p> + +<p>“My dear one,” she said, “is it really true +that all your heart is mine; you are sure, +dear Alfred?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he answered, in a voice he tried +to make gentle, but that, oddly enough, +sounded half defiant, “I told you so last +night.”</p> + +<p>“I know,” she answered; “only I have +not deserved such happiness,” and the tears +stole down her cheeks. “I have lived so +long alone, my dear one; but all my life is +yours, Alfred, all my life, and the truest love +that woman can give I will give you,” and +she clasped her hands while she spoke—she +seemed to be making the promise before +some unseen witness to whom she owed +account of all her doings.</p> + +<hr class='tbk'/> + +<p>A week later Alfred Wimple and Mrs. +Baines were married from the little lodging +in Portsea Place. It was a sensation in +Mrs. Hooper’s monotonous life. She would +have laughed and made fun of the wedding, +but that Aunt Anne’s dignity forbade almost +a smile. The old lady seemed to be in a +dream, the beginning of which she hardly +remembered—to be living through the end +of a poem, the first part of which she had +learned in her youth. Her poor weak eyes +looked soft and loving, and the smile that +came and went about her mouth had something +in it that was pathetic rather than +ridiculous. She had conjured a grey wedding-dress +from somewhere, and a grey bonnet +to match, but the cold caused her to wrap +herself round in the big cloak she always +wore. She pulled on her gloves, which were +large and ill-fitting, and stood before the +glass looking at herself, but all the time her +thoughts were straying back to forty years +and more ago. If only time could be conquered, +and its cruel hand held back—if +flesh and blood could change as little as +sometimes do the souls they clothe, how +different would be the lives of men and +women! The woman who went down the +stairs was old and wrinkled outwardly, but +within she was as full of tenderness as any +girl of twenty going forth to meet her lover. +She stepped into the four-wheel cab alone, +the biting wind swept maliciously over her +face, and quickly she pulled up the window. +It was but a little way to the church. It +stood in the middle of an open space; she +started when she caught sight of it, then +turned away her head for a moment with a +strange dread: and her courage almost gave +way as she stopped before the deserted doorway. +Alfred Wimple heard her arrive, and +came to meet her with the hesitating, half-doubtful +look that his face always wore when +he was with her. There was no tenderness +in his manner, there was something almost +like shame. But he seemed to be impelled +by fate and unable to turn back. The old +lady’s heart was full; the tears came into +her eyes. She took his arm, and together +they walked up the empty aisle. The two +odd people who had been pressed into +service as witnesses came forward, the clergyman +appeared, he looked for a moment at +the couple before him, but it was no business +of his to interfere, and slowly he began the +service.</p> + +<p>A quarter of an hour later Aunt Anne and +Alfred Wimple were man and wife.</p> + +<p>“I think we had better walk back,” were +the first words he said when they were outside. +His manner was almost cowering, +little enough like a bridegroom.</p> + +<p>“My darling, don’t you think people would +guess?” she whispered.</p> + +<p>“You need not be afraid. We don’t look +much like a wedding-party,” he answered +grimly.</p> + +<p>“No, my love, I fear not. But you do +not mind?”</p> + +<p>“No,” and they walked on in silence. Then +she spoke again, her voice tremulous with +emotion—</p> + +<p>“I feel, my darling, as if I could not have +borne it if there had been more signs of our +joyousness. It is too sacred; it is the day +of my life,” she whispered to herself.</p> + +<p>“I hope there will be some sunshine at +Hastings,” he said, as if he did not in the +least understand what she was talking about. +He had hardly listened to her.</p> + +<p>“I hope so, my darling,” she answered +gently; “and in your life too. I will try to +put it there, Alfred.”</p> + +<p>He turned and looked at her with an +expression that seemed half shame and half +shrinking.</p> + +<p>“It will be warmer at Hastings,” he said, +as if at a loss for words.</p> + +<p>Aunt Anne had arranged a honeymoon +trip. It was she who made all the arrangements, +and he who reluctantly consented to +them. They were to go to Hastings by a +late afternoon train, stay there a few days, +and then return to town; but everything was +vague beyond.</p> + +<p>“It will be better to wait,” Mr. Wimple +said, when she wanted to settle some sort of +home. “I must consider my work, Anne. +I cannot be tied down: you must understand +that.”</p> + +<p>There was a little wedding-breakfast set +out in the drawing-room. A cold chicken +and a shape of jelly, and a very small +wedding-cake with some white sugar over it, +put almost shyly on one side. In the middle +of the table was a pint bottle of champagne. +The gold foil over the cork made the one +bright spot in the room, and gave it an air of +festivity. A cheerless meal enough on a +winter’s day, but not for worlds would Aunt +Anne have had an ordinary one on such an +occasion. And so they sat down to their +cold chicken and the cheap stiff jelly; and +Alfred Wimple opened the champagne, and +Aunt Anne, quick to see, noticed that he +gave her three quarters of a glass and drank +the rest himself, and she felt that she was +married indeed.</p> + +<p>“Bless you, my dear one, bless you,” she +said, as she always did, when she raised her +glass to her lips. “And may our life be a +happy one.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” he answered solemnly—and +then, as if he remembered what was +expected of him, he drank back to her.</p> + +<p>“Good health, Anne, and good luck to +us,” he said.</p> + +<p>The meal ended, the things were taken +away by Mrs. Hooper herself, and they were +left alone.</p> + +<p>Mr. Wimple loitered uneasily round the +room.</p> + +<p>“I think we must go to Hastings by a +later train,” he said; “I shall have to get +to my chambers presently.”</p> + +<p>“Must you go to your chambers again +to-day?” she asked meekly.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he answered. “I shan’t be long, +but there are some things I must see to.”</p> + +<p>“Couldn’t I go with you, Alfred, in a cab?”</p> + +<p>“No;” and his lips locked.</p> + +<p>“Are the rooms in the Gray’s Inn Road?” +she asked again.</p> + +<p>“They are near there,” he said once more; +he looked at her steadfastly, and something +in his eyes told her that he did not mean to +give her the address. For a few moments +there was silence between them. He stood +on the hearth-rug by the fire. She sat a few +paces from him, seemingly lost in thought. +Suddenly she looked up.</p> + +<p>“Alfred, my darling,” she cried sadly, +“you do love me, do you not? You seem +so cold to me to-day, so reserved and +different. I have taken this great step for +you, and you have not said a tender word +to me since we returned from the church, +yet this is our wedding-day,” and she +stopped.</p> + +<p>“I am not well, and it’s so cold, and I am +worried about money matters, Anne.”</p> + +<p>“I will take care of you,” she said, and +stood up beside him, “and nurse you, and +make you strong; I will study your every +wish. If I had millions of money, they +should all be yours, my darling; I should +like to spread out gold for your feet to walk +on.”</p> + +<p>“I believe you would,” he said, with something +like gratitude in his voice, and he +stooped and kissed her forehead.</p> + +<p>Even this meagre sign of affection overcame +her, she put her head thankfully down +on his shoulder and let it rest there a minute +from sheer weariness and longing. He put +his arm round her and his face touched her +head, but it was as a man caresses his +mother. Still, for a moment the weary old +heart found rest.</p> + +<p>“You are all my world,” she whispered.</p> + +<p>“I’m not good enough for you, Anne,” +he said uneasily. “You are a fool to care +about me.” Then she raised her head and +the bright smile came back.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” she said joyfully, “you are +much too good. It shall be the study of my +life to be good enough for you.” The enthusiasm +of youth seemed to flash back upon +her for a moment. “I am not a fool to +care for you. I am the wisest woman on +earth. My darling Alfred,” she went on +after a pause, “I have a wedding-present +for you; you must have thought me very +remiss in not giving you one already.”</p> + +<p>“I have nothing for you,” he answered. +But she did not hear him. She was fumbling +in a travelling-bag at the end of the room. +Presently she came back with a large old-fashioned +gold watch.</p> + +<p>“This belonged to my brother John, who +died,” she said. “I want you to wear it in +memory of to-day.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a very handsome watch,” he said. +“I never saw it before. Where has it been?”</p> + +<p>She was silent for a moment and her left +eye winked.</p> + +<p>“My love,” she said, “I had it kept in a +place of safety till I required it,” and he +asked no more questions.</p> + +<p>He put on his great coat to go out; but +he hesitated by the door and half reluctantly +came back. “Anne,” he said, “even if we +have no money, we ought to be prudent and +business like; I meant to have told you so +yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my darling,” she said, half wonderingly.</p> + +<p>“People usually sign their wills on their +wedding-day. You see I am not strong +and might die.” And he looked at her +keenly.</p> + +<p>“Yes, my love, or I might die, which +would be far more natural.”</p> + +<p>“I have made a will leaving you all I +have. How do you wish to leave anything +that you possess?”</p> + +<p>“To you, of course, Alfred—everything I +have in the world.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t wish to influence you,” he said, +“but I thought you might wish to make +your will in substance the same as mine. So +after I left you yesterday I had them both +drawn up. They are in my great coat +pocket now, we might as well get them +signed and done with. The landlady and +the servant will witness them.” He produced +two long envelopes from his pocket, +and Mrs. Hooper and the servant were called.</p> + +<p>“Alfred,” Aunt Anne said, when they +were alone again, and she read over the +documents, “your name is in my will, but +in yours you only say you ‘leave everything +to my wife.’ ”</p> + +<p>“Surely that is sufficient?” he said +shortly.</p> + +<p>“Of course, dear, for I am”—the voice +dropped, as almost a blush came upon the +withered cheek—“your wife now.” Mr. +Wimple put his lips together again after his +favourite manner and said nothing. She +watched him curiously, a little fear seemed +to overtake her, her hands, half trembling, +sought each other. “Have I displeased you, +Alfred,” she asked gently; “my darling, +have I displeased you?”</p> + +<p>“No,” he answered drily; “but I am not +very sentimental, Anne. Perhaps you had +better remember that,” and he put the wills +carefully into his pocket. “We will go by +the 5.35 train. By the way, you might +meet me at the station,” and he looked at +her steadfastly.</p> + +<p>“If you do not come back for me I shall +not go at all,” and something like an angry +flash came from her eyes. He hesitated a +moment.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” he answered, “I will come +back for you.” She watched him go down +the stairs, she listened while he opened the +street door and closed it—to his footsteps +growing fainter along the pavement outside; +then she went back into the little drawing-room +and shut herself in, and put her head +down on the lumpy sofa-cushion and sobbed +with the bitter disappointment and hopelessness +that had suddenly opened itself out +before her.</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width:30%'> +<img src='images/tail1.jpg' alt='flowers' id='iid-0002' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/chap7.jpg' alt='sea scene with rocks and a sailboat' id='iid-0003' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER II.</h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='lead-in'><img class='dropcap' src='images/caps.jpg' style='float:left;width:5%;' alt='S'/>ix</span> months later. Walter was back in +England, better in health, brown and +handsome. Florence was in a seventh +heaven of happiness. Her husband was her +very devoted lover; the children were as +good as gold; the little house near Regent’s +Park was decorated with all manner of Indian +draperies and <span class='it'>bric-à-brac</span>—what more could +the heart of woman desire?</p> + +<p>“Really,” she said, “it was worth your +going away to know the delight of getting +you back again.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, darling; shall I go away again?”</p> + +<p>“No, you dear stupid! Walter, why +doesn’t Mr. Fisher come and see us? He +has only been once since you returned, and +then he seemed most anxious to go away +again.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose he was afraid Ethel Dunlop +would come in.”</p> + +<p>“I wish he hadn’t fallen in love with her,” +Florence said; “I shall always reproach +myself about it. But, really, he was so good +and kind that I half hoped she would like him.”</p> + +<p>“A woman under thirty doesn’t marry a +man merely because he is good and kind, +unless matrimony is her profession.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t help thinking it might have been +different if he had spoken to her,” Florence +said; “it is so absurd of a man to write. I +wouldn’t have accepted you if you had proposed +in a letter.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, wouldn’t you?” he laughed; “that +was a matter in which you wouldn’t have +been allowed to decide for yourself. One +must draw the line somewhere. It is all +very well to let women do as they like in +little things; but in a big one like marrying +you, why——”</p> + +<p>“Don’t talk nonsense,” Florence laughed, +putting her hand over his mouth. He +kissed it, and jerked back his head.</p> + +<p>“I wonder what Fisher said in his letter, +Floggie?”</p> + +<p>“I should think it was very proper and +respectful.”</p> + +<p>“The sort of letter a churchwarden or +an archbishop would write. Poor chap, I +expect he feels a little sore about it. He +hadn’t a very good time with his first wife, +I fancy. Probably he wanted to make a +little sunshine for his sober middle-age. I +dare say he would have been awfully good +to her if she had taken him.”</p> + +<p>“I wish she had, and I wish he would +come here again,” Florence said; “he was +so very kind about taking the house, and I +always liked him.”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid,” Walter said, with a sigh, +“he hasn’t quite forgiven me for putting +Wimple on to him. It really was a ghastly +thing for <span class='it'>The Centre</span> to get reviews from +other papers palmed off on it as fresh ones. +I can’t think, setting aside the lowness of +cheating, how Wimple could be such a fool +as to suppose that Fisher wouldn’t find out +that they had been prigged.”</p> + +<p>“He was quite taken in at first. I remember +his telling me that Mr. Wimple +wrote very well.”</p> + +<p>“You see, those Scotch papers are uncommonly +clever. How Wimple expected +not to be found out I can’t imagine. If he +had prigged from the <span class='it'>Timbuctoo Journal</span>, +of course he might have escaped. Fisher +must have sworn freely. It made him look +such an ass”—and Walter laughed, in spite +of himself.</p> + +<p>“Is there a <span class='it'>Timbuctoo Journal</span>?” Florence +asked innocently.</p> + +<p>“No, you sweet idiot—perhaps there is, +though. Should think it would be interesting. +Probably gives an account of a roast-missionary +feast now and then.”</p> + +<p>“You horrid thing!” said Florence. “I +wish Mr. Wimple were in Timbuctoo, and +that I knew how poor Aunt Anne was +getting on.”</p> + +<p>“Poor, dear old fool!—we never dreamed +what would come of that introduction, either, +did we?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Walter, I shall never forget what I +suffered about her at the cottage when she +told me she was going to marry Mr. Wimple. +And then, after she had vanished, there were +the bills at Witley and Guildford. I can’t +imagine what she did with all the things +she bought, for she was only at the cottage +a week or so without me.”</p> + +<p>“Probably sent them to Wimple at Liphook.”</p> + +<p>“She couldn’t send him chickens and +claret, and cakes and chocolate, and a dozen +other things.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, she could—trust her,” laughed +Walter. “It is very odd,” he went on, “but +I have always had an idea, somehow, that +there was a feminine attraction at Liphook. +If it was the young lady we saw with him +that morning at Waterloo Station, I don’t +think much of her. How did you manage +to pay all the bills, Floggie dear? You +didn’t owe a penny when I came back, and +had saved something too—I never knew +such a frugal little woman.”</p> + +<p>“Steggall’s bill was the worst,” Florence +said; “there were endless waggonettes.”</p> + +<p>“Probably she spent her time in showing +Wimple the beauties of the country. How +did you manage to pay them all, Floggie?”</p> + +<p>“Lived on an egg one day, and nothing +the next.”</p> + +<p>“That’s what a woman always does. A +man would have robbed Peter to pay Paul. +You ought to have a reward. It is too cold +at Easter, but if I could get away for a +fortnight this Whitsuntide we might take a +run to Monte Carlo.”</p> + +<p>“Monte Carlo makes me think of Mrs. +North. I should like to see her again; she +was very fascinating.”</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you go and see her?”</p> + +<p>“I was not sure that you would like it. +There was evidently something wrong.”</p> + +<p>He was silent for a few minutes. “Do +you know,” he said presently, “when there +is something wrong with a woman I think it +is a reason for going, and not for staying +away. It’s the only chance for setting it +right. What is the use of goodness if it isn’t +used for the benefit of other people?”</p> + +<p>“Walter,” Florence said, and she stood up +and clasped her hands—“she said nearly the +same thing to me that evening she was here. +There was something almost desperate in +her manner; it has haunted me ever since; +and I should have gone to see her but that +I was afraid of your being angry.”</p> + +<p>“What, at your going to see a woman +who perhaps needed your help? If she were +up a moral tree, you might have done her +some good.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t bear to think I missed a chance +of doing that. Walter,” she added, with a +sigh, “sometimes I fear that I am very +narrow.”</p> + +<p>“No, dear, you are only a little prim +Puritan, and I love you for it as I love you +for everything; so please, Floggie, will you +take me to Monte Carlo this Whitsuntide, +or may I take you?”</p> + +<p>“You are a wicked spendthrift, as bad +as Aunt Anne; I believe it runs in the +family. What is to be done with the +children while we go to Monte Carlo?”</p> + +<p>“We’ll leave them with the mother-in-law.”</p> + +<p>“I wish you wouldn’t call my mother that +horrid name.”</p> + +<p>“I thought it would make you cross. I +say, I really do wish we knew what had +become of the Wimples.”</p> + +<p>“I think they must be all right, somehow,” +Florence said, “or else——”</p> + +<p>“Or else she would have arrived to borrow +a five-pound note. I wonder how Wimple +likes it. Well, darling, I must be off to the +office. It’s all agreed about Whitsuntide, +then, Fisher permitting.”</p> + +<p>“Go away,” Florence laughed; “go to +the office, you bad person.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, I will,” he said, in a patient +voice; “but I really do wish Aunt Anne +would turn up. I want some more scissors; +I lost all those she gave me, and some one +stole the case.”</p> + +<p>“And Catty broke my velvet pincushion. +It is, clearly, time that she turned up.”</p> + +<p>When Walter had gone, Florence thought +of Mrs. North again. “It was rather unkind +of me not to be nice to her, for she was +generous to Aunt Anne,” she said to herself. +“I wonder whether I could go and call upon +her now. I might explain that I never +dared to mention Madame Celestine’s bills.”</p> + +<p>But she had no more time in which to +think of Mrs. North, for there were the inevitable +domestic matters to arrange; and +then Ethel Dunlop came in, full of her +engagement to George Dighton.</p> + +<p>“I always imagined it was merely friendship,” +Florence said, thinking regretfully of +the editor.</p> + +<p>“Did you?” said Ethel, brightly. “We +thought so ourselves for a long time, I +believe; but we found out that we were mistaken. +By the way, Florence, you can’t +think how good Mr. Fisher has been to +us.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Fisher? Well, you don’t deserve +anything from him.”</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t. Still, it wasn’t my fault +that he proposed; I never encouraged him. +How droll it was of him to come and pour +out his troubles to you.”</p> + +<p>“I think it was manly and dignified,” +Florence said; “it proved that he wasn’t +ashamed of wanting to marry you. Did he +write a nice letter, Ethel?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, very, I think.”</p> + +<p>“How did he begin?”</p> + +<p>“He began, ‘My dear Miss Ethel,’ and +ended up, ‘Yours very faithfully.’ ”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid you did lead him on a little +bit.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed I did not. He asked me to come +and see his mother when she had this house, +and he was always here.”</p> + +<p>“That was very nice of him,” Florence +said; “it shows that he is very fond of his +mother.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, it was very nice of him,” Ethel +answered, “and he is very fond of his +mother; but I found that he generally came +a little before I did, and he always saw me +home. I couldn’t refuse to let him do so, +because he evidently thought it a matter of +duty to see that I arrived safely at my own +street door. Middle-aged men always seem +to think that a girl must get into mischief +the moment she is left to her own devices.”</p> + +<p>“How did he know of your engagement?”</p> + +<p>“I wrote and told him. He had been so +kind that I felt it was due to him. I told +him we should be as poor as church mice, as +George would be in a government office all +his life, with little to do and less to spend, +after the manner of those officials; and he +wrote back such a nice letter, inquiring into +all our affairs and prospects—you would have +thought he was our godfather, at least.”</p> + +<p>“He does that sort of thing to everybody,” +Florence said; “he is astonishingly kind. +He always seems to think he ought to do +something for the good of every one he +knows.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps he mistakes himself for a minor +providence, and goes about living up to it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Ethel!”</p> + +<p>“And then,” Ethel went on, altogether +ignoring the slightly shocked look on her +friend’s face, “he said that, perhaps, a word +might be put in somewhere and something +done for George. He didn’t say any more, +but I gathered that cabinet ministers occasionally +range themselves round a newspaper +office, seeking whom they may oblige.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Ethel!” exclaimed Florence again, +“that is just your little exaggerated way.”</p> + +<p>“Well, at any rate, he thinks he can do +something, and he evidently wants to be +good to us.”</p> + +<p>“He seems to delight in doing kind +things,” Florence answered; “you know how +good he was about Walter.”</p> + +<p>“He ought to have married Mrs. Baines. +He would have been much better than +Alfred Wimple”—with which wise remark +Ethel went away, full of her own happiness, +and Florence sat down and thought over +Mr. Fisher’s generosity.</p> + +<p>“He is always doing kind things,” she +said to herself. “It was he who sent Walter +to India, and perhaps set him up for the +rest of his life; and he who gave that horrid +Mr. Wimple work, only to find himself +cheated and insulted in return. I can’t think +what I shall do whenever I meet Mr. +Wimple.” But she swiftly dismissed that +disagreeable person from her mind, and +returned to the consideration of Mr. Fisher’s +virtues. “He is so unselfish,” she thought. +“It isn’t every one who would try to help +on the man for whom he had been refused. +Yet it is very odd that, with all his goodness, +Mr. Fisher is not a bit fascinating; I quite +understand Ethel’s refusing him. I have +an idea that few go out of their way to be +good to him. Some people seem to live in +the world to give out kindness, and others +only to take it in.” The reflection felt like +a self-reproach. She did so little for others +herself, and yet she was always longing to +do more in life than merely to take her own +share of its enjoyment. She wanted most +to help Aunt Anne; she longed to see her, +to comfort and soothe her, and perhaps to +lend her a little money. She felt convinced +that Aunt Anne must want some money by +this time, and that she was miserable with +Mr. Wimple. “I am so afraid he isn’t kind +to her,” she said to herself; “I am certain +he hasn’t married her for love—there is some +horrid reason that we are not clever enough +to guess. I only wish she had never left +Mrs. North; she was so happy there, and +looked so grand driving about and giving +presents; and perhaps if she had stayed she +might, eventually, have been able to pay for +them.” Then, almost against her will, Mrs. +North’s face was before her again. She +could see it quite plainly, lovely and restless, +but with a sad look in the blue eyes that +was like an appeal for kindness. “I feel +as if there were an aching in her heart for +something she has missed in life. But +perhaps that is nonsense, or it is only that +I don’t understand her—we are so different. +I have half a mind to go and call on her. I +wonder if she would care to see me?”</p> + +<p>Some more hesitation, some curiosity and +kindly feeling, and then Florence put on +her prim little bonnet and her best furs, for +she remembered Mrs. North’s magnificent +array and felt that it would not do to look +shabby. She took the train from Portland +Road to South Kensington, and walked +slowly to Cornwall Gardens.</p> + +<p>“I won’t leave Walter’s card,” she thought, +“or any cards at all if she is out; for, though +I am glad to go and see her, I don’t want +to be on visiting terms.”</p> + +<p>But Mrs. North was at home, and Florence +was shown into a gorgeous drawing-room, +all over draperies, and bits of colour, and +tall palms, and pots of lovely flowers. In +the midst of them sat Mrs. North, a little +lonely figure by a piled-up wood fire, for the +early spring day was cold and dreary. She +rose as her visitor entered, and came just +a step forward. She was lovelier than ever. +With a cry of joyful surprise, she held out +her hands to Florence.</p> + +<p>“<span class='it'>You!</span>” she exclaimed. “Oh, Mrs. +Hibbert, I never thought you would come +and see me at all; but now—oh, it is good +of you! Did you think how glad I should +be?”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t know whether you would care +to see me or not,” Florence said, surprised +at her delight.</p> + +<p>“Care?” Mrs. North almost gasped, and +Florence fancied that her lip quivered; +“indeed I do, only no one—won’t you sit +down?”—and she made a cosy corner on +a low couch, with a pile of soft, silk-covered +cushions.</p> + +<p>“I was so sorry not to be able to come +and see you last year——”</p> + +<p>“I quite understand,” Mrs. North said, +and the colour rushed to her face. “I did +not expect it.”</p> + +<p>“You were so kind about Madame +Celestine”—Florence went on, thinking that +she, too, would have a heap of down cushions +in her drawing-room, and not noticing Mrs. +North’s confusion—“and about all those +dreadful bills.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I remember. Then you did not +stay away on purpose?” Mrs. North leaned +forward while she spoke, and waited breathlessly +for the answer.</p> + +<p>“Why, of course not.” A happy look +came over the girlish face.</p> + +<p>“And did you come now to tell me about +Mrs. Baines? I should love to hear about +her. Of course I knew she would not write. +Was she very angry at my paying the +bill?”</p> + +<p>“Well, no——” and Florence hesitated.</p> + +<p>“Do tell me. I don’t in the least mind +if she was. How furious she would be with +me now, and how she would gather her +scanty skirts and pass me by in scornful +silence.” Mrs. North laughed, an almost +shrill laugh that seemed to be born of sorrow +and pain. She was very strange, Florence +thought, and her manner was oddly altered. +“Do tell me,” she asked again—“was she +very angry?”</p> + +<p>“I am ashamed to say that she never +knew you had paid it.”</p> + +<p>“You were afraid to tell her?”</p> + +<p>“I never had a good opportunity.”</p> + +<p>“It doesn’t matter a bit. It saved her +from being worried, poor thing,—that was +the chief point. So long as a thing is done, +it doesn’t matter who does it—unless it’s a +bad thing. It matters then very much—especially +to the person who does it,” Mrs. +North added, with a little bitter laugh. +“The pain of it”—she stopped again, and +went on suddenly, “Tell me more about +Mrs. Baines. Where is she?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“Have you not seen her lately?”</p> + +<p>“Not for a long time.”</p> + +<p>“But what has become of her?”</p> + +<p>Florence hesitated again. “I cannot tell +you.”</p> + +<p>“Dear lady!” said Mrs. North, her face +merry with sudden fun. “You have not +quarrelled with her? A Madonna doesn’t +quarrel, surely? Oh, how rude I am—but +you will forgive me, won’t you?” She got +up from the other end of the couch and rang +the bell. “Bring some tea,” she said to the +servant, “and quickly.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t have tea for me, please——” +Florence began.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, yes,” Mrs. North said entreatingly. +“I feel, dear Mrs. Hibbert, that we +are going to talk scandal—therefore we must +have tea. I have had enough scandal +lately,” she added, with a sigh, “but still +when it isn’t about one’s self it is so exhilarating, +as Mrs. Baines would have said; +now, please, go on.”</p> + +<p>“Go on with what?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. North pulled out a little scented +lace handkerchief and twirled it into a ball in +her excitement.</p> + +<p>“About Mrs. Baines. There is some +exciting news—I know it; I feel it in the +air. Ah, here’s the tea. I will pour it out +first, and then, while we drink it, you must +tell me all about her. Some sugar and +cream?—there, now we look more cosy. +Where is the old lady? What have you +done with her? You have not locked her +up?” she asked quickly.</p> + +<p>“No,” laughed Florence, thinking how +good the tea was, and how pretty were the +cups and the little twisted silver spoons. +“I have not locked her up.”</p> + +<p>“And you have really not quarrelled with +her?”</p> + +<p>“No,” answered Florence, a little doubtfully. +“Though I sometimes fear that she +is angry with me for what she called my +lack of sympathy. Really, Mrs. North, I +don’t know how to tell you; but the fact is,—she +is married again.”</p> + +<p>“No, no?” cried Mrs. North. “Oh, it’s too +lovely! And who is the dear old gentleman?”</p> + +<p>“It’s a young one,” and Florence laughed, +for she could not help being amused. “I +don’t know if you ever saw him—Mr. +Wimple?” Mrs. North rocked to and fro, +with wicked delight, till the last words came; +then she grew quite grave.</p> + +<p>“Oh, but I am sorry,” she said, “for I +have seen him; and he didn’t look nice; he +looked—rather horrid.”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid he did,” Florence answered +regretfully.</p> + +<p>“Do tell me all about it”—but the only +account that Florence was able to give did +not satisfy Mrs. North. “You must have +seen something of the love-making beforehand?” +she said.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid I saw nothing of that either,” +Florence explained, “for I was in London, +and she was at the cottage.”</p> + +<p>“I thought she liked him when she was +here,” Mrs. North said; “but, of course, I +never dreamed of her being in love with +him. She used to meet him and go to contemplate +the Albert Memorial. Sometimes, +when I was out alone, I drove by them; but +I pretended to be blind, for I did not want +to invite him here—he was so unattractive. +He called once, but I did not encourage +him to come again. I would give anything +to see them together. If I knew where she +lived, I would brave everything, and call +upon her, though she probably wouldn’t let +me in.”</p> + +<p>Then Florence began to be a little puzzled. +What did Mrs. North mean? Had she +done anything—anything bad? Almost +without knowing it she looked up and asked, +“Is Mr. North quite well?” The colour +flew to Mrs. North’s face again.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, I suppose so,” she answered +coldly. “Naturally I don’t inquire after his +health.”</p> + +<p>“You had had a telegram last time I saw +you——”</p> + +<p>“I remember”—it was said bitterly. “I +wondered why he was coming back so +suddenly.”</p> + +<p>“I thought perhaps he was at home still.”</p> + +<p>“At home! He may be. I don’t know +where he is. I have not the least idea. It +is no concern of mine.”</p> + +<p>“Then he did not return after all?” +Florence said, bewildered. Mrs. North +looked at her for a moment in silence. Then +she got up and stood leaning against the +mantelpiece, which was covered with flowers +and <span class='it'>bric-à-brac</span>.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Hibbert,” she said, and it seemed +as if her lips moved reluctantly, but she +showed no other sign of emotion—“you +know—what has happened to me, don’t +you?”</p> + +<p>“No,” answered Florence, breathlessly, +and she stood up too. Mrs. North glanced +quickly at the door, almost as if she expected +to see her visitor flee towards it.</p> + +<p>“Mr. North divorced me,” she said, very +slowly.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t know,” Florence answered, and +began to put on her glove.</p> + +<p>“I thought you didn’t,” and there came +a bitter little laugh. “I knew you didn’t; +and yet, deep down in the bottommost corner +of my heart, I hoped you did.”</p> + +<p>“You must forgive me for saying that, if +I had, I should not have come, though I am +very, very sorry for you.”</p> + +<p>“As a judge is when he sends a prisoner +into solitary confinement, or to be hanged, +and turns away to his own comfortable +life?” Florence buttoned her glove. “And +you will never come and see me again, of +course?” she added, with another little +burst.</p> + +<p>“I do not think I can,” Florence said +gently.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want you,” Mrs. North answered +quickly, while her cheeks burned a deeper +and deeper red. “It was only a test question.”</p> + +<p>“I am very sorry for you,” Florence said +again, “very, very. You are so young; and +you seem to have no one belonging to you. +But there are some things that are impossible, +if——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I know,” burst out Mrs. North +again; “I know. My God! and this is a +Christian country—yes, wait,” she said, for +she fancied Florence was going. “I know +you are kind and gentle, and you are—good,” +she added, almost as an afterthought; +“and you and the women like you try very +hard to keep your goodness close among +yourselves, and never to let one scrap of it +touch women like me. Tell me,” she asked—“did +you marry the man you loved best +in the world?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Florence answered unwillingly, +afraid of being dragged into an argument.</p> + +<p>“Then you have never known any temptation +to do wrong. Where does the merit +of doing right come in?”</p> + +<p>“I would rather not discuss it,” Florence +said, gently but coldly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, let me speak—not for my own sake, +for I shall be strong enough to make some +sort of life for myself after a time; but for +the sake of other women who may be in my +position and judged as you judge me. When +I was eighteen I was persuaded to marry a +man old enough to be my father.”</p> + +<p>“But if you didn’t care for him——”</p> + +<p>“So many of us think that love is half a +myth till our own turn comes. They said +I should be happy, and I wanted to be. Of +course I wasn’t: human nature is not so +easily satisfied. He was rather kind at first. +But after a time he grew tired of me. I +suppose I wasn’t much of a companion to +him. He went abroad and left me alone, +again and again. At first my sister was with +me; she married and went away. Mrs. +Baines came a little while before that——” +She stopped, as if unable to go on without +some encouragement.</p> + +<p>“Yes?” Florence said, listening almost +against her will.</p> + +<p>“And I was young and inexperienced. +How could I know the danger in so many +things that amused me? At last I fell in +love; I had been so lonely, I was so tired, +and I had never cared for any one in my +whole life before.”</p> + +<p>“But you knew that it was wrong. You +were married.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, but the paths of virtue had been +deadly dull, and trodden with a man I did +not love and whom I had been made to +marry. The man I did love was young and +handsome,—he is a soldier. The rest of the +story was natural, even if it was wicked.”</p> + +<p>“And then?” asked Florence, wonderingly.</p> + +<p>“Then my husband came back, and there +were the usual details. He heard something +that sent him flying home to look after his +honour. He had forgotten to look after +mine—or my happiness.”</p> + +<p>“And the man?”</p> + +<p>“He had gone to India with his regiment. +He telegraphed over, ‘No defence,’ and that +was the end of it.”</p> + +<p>“I hope he will come back and make you +reparation.”</p> + +<p>“He has not written me a line,” Mrs. +North said, and the tears came into her eyes +for a moment—“not a word, not a sign. +Perhaps he is dead—India is a country that +swallows up many histories; or, perhaps,” +she added desperately, “he, too, despises +me now. People flee from me as if I had +the plague,” she added, with the bitter laugh +again. “Oh, there are no people in the +world who encourage wickedness as do the +strictly virtuous.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t say that,” Florence answered, “for, +indeed, it is not true.”</p> + +<p>“But it is,” Mrs. North said eagerly. “I +have proved it: once do wrong, and men +and women seem to combine to prevent you +from ever doing right again. You can’t +make a Magdalen of me”—and she held out +her hands. “I am young; I am a girl still; +you can’t expect me to go in sackcloth and +ashes all my life—and that in solitude. I +want to be happy; I am hungry—and aching +for happiness.”</p> + +<p>“I hope you will get some still, but——”</p> + +<p>“How can I? Men shun me, unless they +want to make me worse; and women fly +from me, as if they feared their own respectability +would vanish at the mere sight +of me. It seems to be made of brittle +stuff.”</p> + +<p>“It is not that,” Florence interrupted—“but +a difference must be made; there must +be some punishment—something done to +prevent——”</p> + +<p>“That is why so many women go on +doing wrong,” Mrs. North continued, as if +she had not heard the interruption; “they +cannot bear the treatment of that portion of +the world which has remained unspotted +or unfound-out. Oh, the cruelty of good +women! I sometimes think it is only the +people who have sinned or who have suffered +who really know how to feel.”</p> + +<p>“That is not true——” Florence began, +but still Mrs. North did not heed her.</p> + +<p>“Do you know,” she said, speaking under +her breath, “I am so sorry for women now +that I believe I could kneel down beside a +wicked, drunken creature in a gutter, and +kiss her, and bring her back, and be tender +to her in the hope of making her better. +For I understand not only the sin, but the +pain and the misery, and the good people, +and all else that have driven her there.”</p> + +<p>“But some difference must be made—you +cannot expect to be received as if people +thought you now what they thought you +once?”</p> + +<p>“I know that,” Mrs. North said scornfully. +“People can’t ask me to their parties. +I don’t want to go to them. They may not +want me for the friend of their daughters, +though I should not harm them——” and +she burst into tears.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t possible,” Florence said helplessly.</p> + +<p>“But need men and women flee from me +as if I were a leper? People who have +known me for years, and might make me +better, women especially, who might make +me a little happier and ashamed of having +done wrong. But no—no; they gather +their skirts, and do not see me as they pass, +though a year ago they crowded here. They +are waiting to hear that I am dead, or have +grown wickeder still. They would feel a +sort of pleasure in hearing it, and be glad +they did not risk their spotless reputations +by trying to prevent it.”</p> + +<p>“I think you must let me go away,” +Florence said gently, determined to end the +interview.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, you had better go!”—and Mrs. +North put the backs of her hands against +her flushed cheeks to cool them. “My tea +has not poisoned you, and I have not ‘contaminated +you,’ as Mrs. Baines would say. +If you ever think of me in the midst of your +own successful life, believe this, that if I had +had all that you have had, I might have +been as good as you—who knows? As it +is, I have my choice between isolation, with +a few breaths of occasional scorn, or the +going farther along a road on which, no +doubt, you think I am well started.”</p> + +<p>“Please let me go,” Florence said gently, +almost carried away by Mrs. North’s beauty +when she looked up at her face, but feeling +that she ought to stand by the principles +that had been a part of her religion. “This +has been so painful, I am sure you must want +to be alone.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, it has been painful enough, but +it has been instructive also,” Mrs. North +said; and then she added gently, “I think I +would rather you go now. Yes, please go,” +she entreated suddenly, while a sob choked +her, and she dabbed her tears with her little +lace handkerchief, vainly struggling to laugh +again.</p> + +<p>“I think it would be better,” Florence +said; “but perhaps some day, if I may—I +will——” She stopped, for she felt that +she ought to consult her husband before she +promised to come again.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, I understand,” Mrs. North said. +“You will come again if you can; but if you +don’t, it will only increase my respect for +goodness. I shall think how precious it is, +how valuable—it has to be guarded like the +Koh-i-noor. Good-bye, Mrs. Hibbert, good-bye.” +She rang the bell and bowed almost +haughtily, so that Florence felt herself dismissed.</p> + +<p>“Good-bye,” the latter said, and slowly +turned from the room. Somehow she knew +that Mrs. North watched her until the door +had half closed, and then threw herself, a +little miserable heap, among the silk cushions. +But she was halfway down the stairs before +she realized it, and the servant was waiting +to show her out.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I was cold and cruel,” she thought, +when the street door had closed behind her, +“but I could not help it; there is no sin in +the world so awful as that one.”</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width:30%'> +<img src='images/tail2.jpg' alt='owl' id='iid-0004' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/chap1.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0005' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER III.</h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='lead-in'><img class='dropcap' src='images/capi2.jpg' style='float:left;width:8%;' alt=' “I'/> CAN</span> understand what you felt,” +Walter said, when he heard of +Florence’s interview with Mrs. North; “still, +I wish we could do something for her.”</p> + +<p>“It has made me miserable; but I don’t +quite see what we can do. We can’t invite +her here—who would come to meet her? +As for my going to see her again, I would +go willingly if I thought I should do her any +good; but I don’t think she would care +about seeing me. She imagines I am good +and disagreeable.”</p> + +<p>“Poor Floggie! Perhaps you might write +her a little letter, and then let it drop.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll wait till I hear some news about +Aunt Anne; then I will write, and try to +make my letter rather nice.”</p> + +<p>This excuse was soon given her.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Burnett, Mr. Fisher’s Whitley friend, +called to see Florence one afternoon.</p> + +<p>“I thought perhaps you would come for a +drive with me,” she said; “it is lovely in the +Park to-day—such beautiful sunshine.”</p> + +<p>“It would be delightful,” Florence +answered, for she always liked Mrs. Burnett; +“but I am afraid I must go to tea with a +cousin in Kensington Gore. I promised to +meet Walter there, and go for a walk afterwards.”</p> + +<p>“Let me drive you there, at any rate.”</p> + +<p>“That would be very kind,” Florence +said, and in five minutes they were on their +way.</p> + +<p>“Have you seen Mr. Fisher lately?” Mrs. +Burnett asked, as they went across the +Park.</p> + +<p>“I saw him two or three weeks ago.”</p> + +<p>“He has grown very grave and silent. I +have an idea that he fell in love with a +rather handsome girl who used to come and +see his mother. I think she was a friend +of yours, Mrs. Hibbert.”</p> + +<p>“He doesn’t look like a man to fall in +love,” Florence said, trying not to betray Mr. +Fisher’s confidence.</p> + +<p>“Oh, but you never know what is going +on inside people—their feelings are so often +at variance with their appearance. My +husband said once that he sometimes thought +people drew lots for their souls, because +they are so seldom matched with their +bodies.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps they do, and for their hearts +as well. It would account for the strange +capacity some people have for loving, though +you have only to look at them to see it is +hopeless that they should be loved back +again.”</p> + +<p>“I know, and it is terrible that love +should so often depend, as it does, on the +chance arrangement of a little flesh and +blood—for that is what beauty amounts to.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but we don’t always love beauty.”</p> + +<p>“No, not always,” Mrs. Burnett answered; +“but the shape of a face, for instance, will +sometimes prevent our love going to a very +beautiful soul.”</p> + +<p>“And a few years and wrinkles will make +love ridiculous or impossible,” Florence said, +thinking of Aunt Anne. Oddly enough, +Mrs. Burnett evidently thought of her too, +for she asked—</p> + +<p>“Has your aunt been at the cottage at +Witley lately?”</p> + +<p>“No,” answered Florence; but she did +not want to discuss Aunt Anne. “My +children so often remember the donkey-cart,” +she said; “it was a great joy to them.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m very glad. When you go to +Witley again, I hope you will use the +pony.”</p> + +<p>“What has become of the donkey?”</p> + +<p>“We were obliged to sell it. It would not +go at all at last. We are not going to +Witley ourselves till July; so, meanwhile, +I hope you will use the pony. Only, dear +Mrs. Hibbert, you won’t let him go too fast +uphill, for it spoils his breath; and we never +let him gallop downhill, for fear of his +precious knees.”</p> + +<p>“I will be very careful,” Florence said, +rather amused.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid we don’t let him go too fast, +even on level ground,” Mrs. Burnett added; +“for he’s a dear little pony, and we should be +so grieved if he came to any harm.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps he would be safer always standing +still,” Florence suggested.</p> + +<p>“Oh, but he might catch cold then; but +do remember, dear Mrs. Hibbert, when you +are going to Witley, that you have only to +send a card the night before to the gardener, +and he will meet you at the station.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, only I should be rather afraid +to use him for fear of accidents.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but you needn’t be; and we are so +glad to have him exercised. Perhaps Mrs. +Baines would like to drive him? Why, we +are at Kensington Gore already. It has +been delightful to have you for this little +drive. Good-by, dear Mrs. Hibbert.”</p> + +<p>Walter was waiting for Florence at her +cousin’s. He gave her a sign not to stay +too long.</p> + +<p>“We so seldom get a walk together,” he +said, when they were outside, “that it seemed +a pity to waste our time under a roof. Let +us get into the Park;” and they crossed +over.</p> + +<p>“How lovely it is,” Florence said, “with +the tender green coming out on the trees. +The brown boughs look as if they were +sprinkled with it. And what a number of +people are out. The Park is beginning to +have quite a season-like look.”</p> + +<p>“Do you remember how Aunt Anne used +to come here and contemplate the Albert +Memorial?” Walter asked. “By the way, +Fisher was talking of Wimple to-day; he is +very sore about him.”</p> + +<p>“It was very vexing; I wish we had never +seen him, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“What, Wimple? I should think so. I +asked Fisher if he knew the fellow’s address; +he says the last time he heard of him he +was somewhere near Gray’s Inn Road. I +wonder if she was with him?”</p> + +<p>“Walter!” exclaimed Florence, and she +almost clutched his arm, “I believe she is +over there. Perhaps that is why she has +been running in our thoughts all day.”</p> + +<p>A little distance off, on a bench under a +tree, sat a spare black figure, with what +looked like a cashmere shawl pulled round +the slight shoulders. Limp and sad the +figure looked: there was an expression of +loneliness in every line of it.</p> + +<p>“It is very like her,” Walter said. They +went a little nearer; they were almost beside +her; but they could not see her face, which +was turned away from them.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it must be she,” Florence said, in +a whisper. Perhaps she heard their footsteps, +for the black bonnet turned slowly +round, and, sure enough, there was the +face of Aunt Anne. It looked thin and woebegone.</p> + +<p>“Aunt Anne! Dear Aunt Anne! Why +have you left us all this time without a +sign?” and Florence put her arms round the +slender shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Aunt Anne! Why, this is real good +luck!” Walter exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“My dear Florence, my dear Walter,” the +old lady said, looking at them with a half-dazed +manner; “bless you, dear children; it +does me good to see you.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t deserve it, you know,” he said +tenderly, “for cutting us.”</p> + +<p>“It wasn’t my fault, dear Walter,” she +answered; “you and Florence and the +dear children have been constantly in my +thoughts; but we have had many unavoidable +anxieties since our marriage; besides, I +was not sure that you desired to see me again.”</p> + +<p>“Why, of course we did. But you don’t +deserve to see us again after leaving us alone +all this long time. Where is Wimple?”</p> + +<p>“He is at Liphook,” she answered. “He +is not strong, and finds the air beneficial to +him.”</p> + +<p>“It was always beneficial to him,” Walter +said dryly, as he sat down beside her.</p> + +<p>“He ought not to leave you alone, dear +Aunt Anne; you don’t look well,” Florence +said.</p> + +<p>“I am very frail, my love, but that is all. +London air is never detrimental to me, as it +is to Alfred. He finds that Liphook invigorates +him, and he frequently goes there +for two or three days; but, as our means are +not adequate to defray the expenses of much +travelling, I remain in town. Walter,” she +asked, looking up with a touch of her old +manner, “did you enjoy your visit to India? +I hope you have most pleasant recollections +of your journey.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you what, Floggie dear,” Walter +said, not answering Aunt Anne’s question, +“we’ll take her back with us at once.”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, my love,” the old lady began; “it +is impossible——”</p> + +<p>“How can it be impossible?” Florence +said gaily; “you are evidently all alone in +London; so we’ll run away with you. The +children are longing to see you, and I want +to show you all the things Walter brought +from India. There is a little ivory elephant +for you.”</p> + +<p>“It was just like him to think of me,” the +old lady said, with a flicker of her former +brightness; but in a moment her sadness +returned, and Walter noticed that there was +almost a cowed expression on her face. It +went to his heart, and gave him a mighty +longing to thrash Wimple.</p> + +<p>“You must come at once,” he said, putting +on an authoritative manner; “then you can +tell us all your news, and we will tell you all +ours. There, put your arm in mine, and +Florence shall go the other side to see you +don’t escape.”</p> + +<p>“He is just the same. He makes me +think of his dear father,” she said, as she +walked between them; “and of that happy +day at Brighton, years and years ago now, +when I met you both on the pier. Do you +remember, my dear ones?”</p> + +<p>“Of course we do!” said Walter; “and +how victoriously you carried us off then, just +as we are carrying you off now.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, he’s just the same,” the old lady +repeated.</p> + +<p>“Here’s a four-wheeler,” he said, when +they reached the Bayswater Road. “This is +quite an adventure; only,” he added gently, +“you don’t look up to much.”</p> + +<p>“I shall be better soon,” she said, and +dropped into silence again. She looked, +almost vacantly, out of the cab window as +they went along, and they were afraid to ask +her questions, for, instinctively, they felt +that things had not gone well with her. +Presently she turned to Florence. “Did +you say the children were at home, my +love?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, dear.” The old lady looked out +again at the green trees in the Park, and +almost furtively at the shops in Oxford +Street. Then she turned to Florence.</p> + +<p>“My love,” she said, “I must take those +dear children a little present. Would you +permit the cabman to stop at a sweetmeat-shop? +We shall reach one in a moment.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, please don’t trouble about them, dear +Aunt Anne.”</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t like them to think I had forgotten +them, my love,” she pleaded.</p> + +<p>“No, and they shan’t think it,” Walter +said, patting her hand. “Hi! stop, cabby. +Stay in the cab; I’ll go and get something +for them.” In a few minutes he reappeared +with two boxes of chocolates. “I think that’s +the sort of thing,” he said. She looked at +them carefully, opened them, and examined +the name of the maker.</p> + +<p>“You have selected them most judiciously, +dear Walter,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“That’s all right. Now we’ll go on.” She +looked at the boxes once more, and put them +down, satisfied.</p> + +<p>“It was just like you, to save me the +fatigue of getting out of the cab,” she said +to her nephew. “I hope the children will +like them; they were always most partial to +chocolates. You must remind me to reimburse +you for them presently, my dear.” +And once more she turned to the window.</p> + +<p>“Aunt Anne, are you looking for any +one?” Walter asked presently.</p> + +<p>“No, my love, but I thought the cabman +was going through Portman Square, and +that he would pass Sir William Rammage’s +house.”</p> + +<p>“That worthy was at Cannes the other +day, I saw.”</p> + +<p>“He stays there till next month,” she explained, +and then they were all silent until +they reached the end of their journey. It +was impossible to talk much to Aunt Anne; +it seemed to interrupt her thoughts. Silence +seemed to have become a habit to her, just +as it had to Alfred Wimple. She was a little +excited when they stopped at the house, and +lingered before the entrance for a moment. +Almost sadly she looked up at the balcony +on which she had sat with Alfred Wimple, +and slowly her left eye winked, as if many +things had happened since that happy night +of which only she had a knowledge.</p> + +<p>They sat her down in an easy-chair, and +gave her tea, and made much of her, and +asked no questions—only showed their delight +at having her with them again. Gradually +the tender old face looked happier, the sad +lines about the mouth softened, and once +there was quite a merry note in her voice, +as she laughed and said, “You dear children, +you are just the same.” Then Catty and +Monty were brought in, and she kissed them, +and patronized them, and gave them their +chocolates, and duly sent them away again, +just as she always used to do.</p> + +<p>“I began to work a little hood for Catty,” +she said, “but I never finished it; it was not +that I was dilatory, but that my eyes are +not as good as they were.” She said the +last words sadly, and Florence, looking up +quickly, wondered if they were dimmed from +weeping.</p> + +<p>“Poor Aunt Anne,” she said soothingly; +“but you are not as lonely as formerly?”</p> + +<p>“No, my love, only Alfred has a great +deal of work to do. It keeps him constantly +at his chambers; and his health not being +good, he is obliged to go out of town very +often, so that, unwillingly”—and she winked +sadly—“he is much away from me.”</p> + +<p>“What work is he doing?” Walter asked.</p> + +<p>“My dear,” she said, with gentle dignity, +“you must forgive me for not answering that +question, but I feel that he would not approve +of my discussing his private affairs.”</p> + +<p>“Have you comfortable rooms in town?” +Florence asked, in order to change the +subject.</p> + +<p>“No, my love, they are not very comfortable, +but we are not in a pecuniary position +to pay a large rent.” She paused for a +moment, and her face became grave and set. +Florence, watching her, fancied that there +was a little quiver to the upper lip.</p> + +<p>“Aunt Anne, dear Aunt Anne, I am +certain you are not very happy—tell us what +it is. We love you. Do tell us—is anything +the matter? Is Mr. Wimple kind to you? +Are you poor?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, do tell us!” Walter said, and put +his arm round her shoulder, and gave it a +little affectionate caress.</p> + +<p>She hesitated for a moment. “My dears,” +she said gratefully, but a little distantly, +“Alfred is very kind to me, but he is very +much tried by our circumstances. He is +not strong, and he is obliged to be separated +from me very often. It causes him +much regret, although he is too unselfish to +show it.”</p> + +<p>“But you ought not to be very poor, if +Wimple has lots of work,” Walter said.</p> + +<p>“I fear it is not very profitable work, dear +Walter, and though I have an allowance from +Sir William Rammage, it does not defray all +our expenses”—and she was silent. Walter +and Florence were silent too. They could +not help it, for Aunt Anne had grown so +grave, and she seemed to lose herself in her +thoughts. Only once did she refer to the +past.</p> + +<p>“Walter, dear,” she asked, “did you find +my little gifts useful when you were away?” +Aunt Anne always used to inquire after the +wear and tear of her presents.</p> + +<p>“Indeed I did,” he answered heartily. “I +was speaking of them only to-day—wasn’t I, +Floggie?” But he concealed the fact that +all the scissors were lost, lest she should +want to give him some more.</p> + +<p>“Aunt Anne,” Florence asked, “isn’t there +anything we could do for you? You don’t +look very well.”</p> + +<p>“The spring is so trying, my love,” the +old lady said gently.</p> + +<p>“I expect you want a change quite as +much as Mr. Wimple.”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, my love. I have been a little +annoyed by my landlady, who was impertinent +to me this morning. It depresses me +to have a liberty taken with me.” Perhaps +the rent was not paid, Florence thought, but +she did not dare to ask. Aunt Anne shivered +and pulled her shawl round her again, and +explained that she had not put on her warm +cloak, as it was so sunny and bright, and +the people in the Park might have observed +that it was shabby; and while she +was talking a really brilliant idea came to +Walter.</p> + +<p>“Aunt Anne,” he exclaimed, “why should +not you and Wimple go to our cottage at +Witley for a bit? Oh! but I forgot—he +stays with friends at Liphook, doesn’t +he?”</p> + +<p>“No, my love, he lodges with an old +retainer.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said Walter, shortly, remembering +a different account that Wimple had given +him the year before, on the memorable morning +when they met in the Strand. “Well, I +think it would be an excellent thing if +you and he went to our cottage. It is standing +empty; we don’t want it just yet, and +there you could be together.” Aunt Anne +looked up with keen interest.</p> + +<p>“Yes, why not?” exclaimed Florence. +“I wish you would. You would be quite +happy there.”</p> + +<p>“My love,” said the old lady, eagerly, “it +would be delightful. But I’m afraid there +are reasons that render it impossible for me +to accept your kindness.”</p> + +<p>“What reasons?—do speak out,” they +said entreatingly, “because, perhaps, we can +smooth them away.”</p> + +<p>“My dears,” said the old lady, “I must be +frank with you. I am indebted to some of +the tradespeople there, and I am not in a +position to pay their bills.”</p> + +<p>“They are all paid,” Walter said joyfully, +“so don’t trouble about them; and, moreover, +we told them that they were never to +give us any credit, so I am afraid they won’t +give you any next time, any more than they +will us, but you won’t mind that.”</p> + +<p>“And then, my love,” the old lady went +on, to Florence, “I have no servants.”</p> + +<p>“I can arrange that,” said Florence. “I +can telegraph to Jane Mitchell, the postman’s +sister, who always comes in and does for us +when we go alone, from Saturday to Monday, +and take no servant. Do go, Aunt Anne; +it will do you a world of good. I shall take +you back to your lodgings, and get you +ready, and send you off to-morrow morning.”</p> + +<p>Aunt Anne stood up excitedly. “My +dears,” she said, “I will bless you for sending +me. I can’t bear this separation. I +want to be with him, and he wants me—I +know he does; it makes him cross and irritable +to be away from me.” There was +almost a wild look in her eyes. They were +astonished at her vehemence. But suddenly +she seemed to remember something, and all +her excitement subsided. “I cannot go until +Sir William Rammage returns to town, or +his solicitor does. My quarter’s allowance +is not due for some weeks, and unfortunately——”</p> + +<p>“We’ll make that all right, Aunt Anne; +leave it to us,” said Walter. “Florence will +come round in the morning and carry you +off, and Wimple will be quite astonished +when you send for him.”</p> + +<p>Aunt Anne looked up almost gaily. +“Yes, my love, he will be quite astonished. +You have made me happy,” she added, with +something like a sob; “bless you for all +your goodness. Now, my dear ones, you +must permit me to depart; I shall have so +many arrangements to make this evening. +Bless you for all your kindness.”</p> + +<p>“I am going to take you back in a +hansom,” said Walter. And in a few minutes +they were driving to the address she had +given, a florist’s shop in a street off the +Edgware Road.</p> + +<p>“I think her rooms were on the top +floor,” he told Florence, when he returned, +“for she looked up at the windows with a +mournful air when we arrived. The house +seemed neglected, and the shop had a dead-and-gone +air; nothing in it but some decayed +plants and a few stray slugs. It is my +opinion that she is left in a garret all by +herself, poor dear; and that Wimple takes +himself off to his chambers, or to his Liphook +friends, and has a better time.”</p> + +<p>“He’s a horrid thing!”</p> + +<p>“Floggie, do you know that he is our +uncle Alfred?” her husband asked wickedly. +She looked at him for a moment in bewilderment, +then she understood.</p> + +<p>“Walter,” she said, “if you ever say that +again I will run away from you. I shall go +and write a line to Mrs. Burnett’s gardener,” +she added, “and tell him to meet us with the +pony to-morrow; she said I was to use it, +and I think it would be good for Aunt Anne +not to be excited by the sight of Steggall’s +waggonette. I am certain she is very unhappy.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know how she could expect to +be anything else,” he answered. “Poor +thing, what the deuce did he marry her +for? There is some mystery at the bottom +of it.”</p> + +<hr class='tbk'/> + +<p>Walter had divined rightly. Aunt Anne’s +lodging was at the top of the house. When +he left her she went slowly up the dark +staircase that led to it. On the landing outside +her door were her two canvas-covered +boxes, one on top of the other. She looked +at them for a moment, half hesitatingly, as if +she were thinking of the journey they would +take to-morrow, and of the things she must +not forget to put into them. She turned the +handle of the front-room door and walked in. +Alfred Wimple was sitting by a cinder fire, +over which he was trying to make some +water boil. He looked up as she entered, +but did not rise from the broken cane-bottomed +chair.</p> + +<p>“Why did you go out, Anne?” he asked +severely, without giving her any sort of +greeting.</p> + +<p>“My dear one,” she said excitedly, going +forward, “I did not dream of your being +here; it is, indeed, a joyful surprise.” She +put her hands on his shoulder and leaned +down. He turned his head away with a +quick movement, and her kiss brushed his +cheek near the ear; but she pretended not +to see it. “When did you come, my +darling?”</p> + +<p>“Two hours ago,” he said solemnly; “and +I wanted some tea.”</p> + +<p>“I am so sorry, but I did not dream of +your coming. Are you better, my dear +one?” She tried to pull the fire together +with the little poker.</p> + +<p>“I am a little better,” he answered. “You +will never make the water boil over that +fire.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I will”—and she looked into the +coal-scuttle. “Have you come up to town +for good, dear Alfred?” The scuttle was +empty, but she found some little bits of wood +and tried to make a blaze.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know; I am going back to my +chambers presently to do a night’s work.”</p> + +<p>“And to-morrow?” she asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you will see me to-morrow,” he +answered. “Can you give me something to +eat? I wish you would make a decent fire.”</p> + +<p>“I will, my dear one. If you will rest +here patiently for a few minutes, I will go +downstairs and ask the landlady to let me +have some coals.”</p> + +<p>“I have no money,” he said sullenly; +“understand that.”</p> + +<p>“But I have, my darling,” she answered +joyfully; “and I am quite sure you require +nourishment. Will you let me go out and +buy you a chop?”</p> + +<p>“Give me some tea. I can get dinner on +my way back.”</p> + +<p>“Won’t you stay with me this evening, +Alfred? I have some news for you, and +I have been so lonely.” She looked round +the shabby room, as if to prove to him how +impossible it was to find comfort in it.</p> + +<p>“No, I can’t stay,” he answered shortly. +“How much money have you got?”</p> + +<p>“I have a sovereign. Walter slipped it +into my glove just now. I have been to see +them both, Alfred.”</p> + +<p>“What did they say about me?”</p> + +<p>“They spoke of you most kindly, my +darling,” she answered, and winked very +timidly.</p> + +<p>“Why couldn’t he give you more? A +sovereign isn’t much,” Wimple said discontentedly. +“I see Rammage is not coming +back from Cannes just yet,” he added.</p> + +<p>“My dear,” she said gravely, “you are +fatigued with your journey, and hungry, and +I know you are anxious. If you will excuse +me a moment, I will make some little +preparations for your comfort.” And, with +the dignity that always sat so quaintly upon +her, she rose from the rug and left the room. +She returned in a few minutes, followed by +the landlady with a scuttleful of coals. Then +she made some tea, and cut some bread and +butter, and set it before Alfred Wimple, all +the time putting off, nervously, the telling of +her great bit of news. She looked at him +while he ate and drank, and her face showed +that she was not looking at the actual man +before her, but at some one she had endowed +with a dozen beauties of heart and soul: she +wished he could realize that he possessed +them; they might have given him patience +and made him happier.</p> + +<p>“Did you enjoy the country?” she asked +gently.</p> + +<p>“Yes”—he coughed uneasily—“but I was +not well. I shall go there again soon.”</p> + +<p>“What do you do all day?” she asked. +“Have you any society?”</p> + +<p>He was silent for a moment, as if +struggling with the destitution of speech that +always beset him. “I can’t give you an +account of all my days, Anne,” he said, and +turned to the fire.</p> + +<p>“I did not ask it, Alfred; you know that +I never intrude upon your privacy. I had +some news,” she went on, with a pathetic +note in her voice, “and hoped it would be +pleasing to you.”</p> + +<p>“What is it?” The expression of his +face had not changed for a moment from the +one of sulky displeasure it had worn when +she entered, and her manner betrayed a +certain nervousness, as if she felt that he +was with her against his will, and only by +gentle propitiation could she keep him at all.</p> + +<p>“Walter and Florence have offered to +lend us their cottage at Witley. We can go +to it to-morrow—if it is convenient to you, +dear Alfred,” she added meekly.</p> + +<p>“I shall not go there,” he said sullenly; +and for a moment he looked her full in the +face with his dull eyes.</p> + +<p>“I thought the air of that locality was +always beneficial to you,” she said, in the +same tone in which she had last spoken.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, I don’t wish to go to that +‘locality,’ and be laughed at.” He half +mocked her as he spoke.</p> + +<p>“Why should you be laughed at?” she +asked, with almost a cry of pain in her voice, +for she knew what the answer would be, +beforehand; but the words were forced from +her, she could not help them. He coughed +and looked at her again.</p> + +<p>“People generally laugh at a young man +who marries an old woman, Anne.” She +got up and went to the end of the room, +and came back again, and put her hand upon +his shoulder.</p> + +<p>“No one is there to laugh,” she said. +“There is no one there to know. We need +not keep any society.” She did not see the +absurdity of the last remark, and made it +quite gravely. “There are only a few +people in the neighbourhood at all, and those +of an inferior class. It does not matter what +they think.”</p> + +<p>“It matters to me what every one thinks.”</p> + +<p>“We cannot remain here much longer,” +she went on. “The landlady was most +impertinent to-day. I think Florence and +Walter would help to pay her if we went +to the cottage to-morrow. They said they +would arrange everything.”</p> + +<p>“It is a long way from Liphook,” he said, +almost to himself; “if any one saw us, they +wouldn’t suspect that we were married. +They would think you were my aunt, +perhaps.”</p> + +<p>“They may think what they please, +Alfred,” she answered, “if you are only +with me.” Then her voice changed. “My +dear one, I cannot bear life unless you are +gentle to me,” she pleaded; “and I cannot +bear it here alone any longer, always away +from you, day after day. I am your wife, +Alfred, and, if I am an old woman, I love +you with all the years I remember, and all +the love that has been stored up in me since +my youth. I want to be near you, to take +care of you, to see that you have comforts. +You can say that I am your aunt, if it pleases +you. I never feel that I am your wife, only +that it is my great privilege to be near you +and to serve you.” She stopped, as if unable +to go on, and he was silent a moment or two +before he answered.</p> + +<p>“It might be a good idea; as you say, +there is no one about there to know.”</p> + +<p>“Are you ashamed of me?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to look ridiculous.” Then +a flash came into her eyes, and the old spirit +asserted itself.</p> + +<p>“Alfred,” she said, “if you do not love +me, I think at least you should learn to treat +me with respect. If I am so distasteful to +you we had better separate. I cannot go +on bearing all that I have borne patiently +for months. Let me go to Florence and +Walter; they will be kind to me, and I will +never be a burden upon you. The allowance +that Sir William Rammage gives me +would keep me in comfort alone, and it +struck me the other day that, when he dies, +perhaps he will leave me something.”</p> + +<p>He looked at her with sudden alarm. +The cowed look seemed to have gone from +her face to his, and as she saw it she +gathered strength, and went on, “I cannot +be insulted, Alfred; I cannot and will not.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t be foolish, Anne; I am irritable +sometimes, and I am not strong——”</p> + +<p>“That is why I have borne so much from +you.”</p> + +<p>“I will go to Witley with you,” he said, +ignoring her remark altogether; “that is, +if you like, and can raise the money to go. +I have none.”</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width:30%'> +<img src='images/tail3.jpg' alt='flowers in a triangle' id='iid-0006' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/chap11.jpg' alt='rabbits on a path along a fence' id='iid-0007' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER IV.</h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='lead-in'><img class='dropcap' src='images/capf2.jpg' style='float:left;width:8%;' alt=' “F'/>isher</span> was quite pleased when I +asked him if we could get off to +Monte Carlo at Whitsuntide for a fortnight,” +Walter told Florence a few weeks +later.</p> + +<p>“Wasn’t he shocked at your gambling +propensities?”</p> + +<p>“Not a bit. He looked as if he would +like to go too; said, in rather a pompous +manner”—and Walter imitated his editor +exactly—“ ‘Certainly, certainly; I think, +Hibbert, your wife deserves a little treat +of some sort after your long absence in the +winter, and I am very glad if it is in my +power to help you to give it to her.’ He +looked like the King of the Cannibal +Islands making an Act of Parliament all +by himself.”</p> + +<p>“You are a ridiculous dear.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Floggie. Fisher’s a nice +old chap, and I am very fond of him.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know,” she said, in rather a +shocked tone, “Ethel Dunlop said one day +that she believed he looked upon himself +as a sort of minor providence?”</p> + +<p>“Well, he does go about minor-providencing +a good deal—which reminds me +that he said he was coming, in a day or +two, to ask you to take him out to buy a +wedding-present for Ethel.”</p> + +<p>“He’ll buy her a Crown Derby tea-set, +or a sugar-basin with a very large pair of +tongs, see if he doesn’t. Ethel said he ought +to have married Aunt Anne.”</p> + +<p>“He would have been a thousand times +better than Wimple. I wonder how those +gay young people are getting on at Witley, +and whether they want anything more before +we start.”</p> + +<p>“I think they must be all right at present,” +Florence said. “We sent them a good big +box of stores when they went to the cottage; +and I know you gave her a little money, +dear Walter, and we paid up her debts, so +that she cannot be worried. Then, of course, +she has her hundred a year from Sir William +to fall back upon, and Mr. Wimple probably +has something.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, I suppose they are all right; +besides, I don’t feel too generous towards +that beggar Wimple.”</p> + +<p>“I should think not,” Florence said virtuously. +“Do you know, Walter, once or +twice it has struck me that perhaps he won’t +live; he doesn’t look strong, and he is always +complaining. Aunt Anne said that he wanted +constant change of air.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, I remember she said Liphook +was ‘beneficial’ to him.”</p> + +<p>“If he died she would have her allowance, +and be free.”</p> + +<p>“No such luck,” said Walter. “Besides, +if he died, there would be nowhere for him +to go to—he’d have to come back again. +Heaven wouldn’t have him, and, after all, +he isn’t quite bad enough for the devil to +use his coals upon.”</p> + +<p>“Walter, you mustn’t talk in that way—you +mustn’t, indeed;” and she put her hand +over his mouth.</p> + +<p>“All right,” he said, struggling to get free; +“I won’t do it again.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Fisher duly arrived the next afternoon. +He was a little breathless, though he +carefully tried to conceal it, and wore the +air of deference, but decision, which he +always thought the right one to assume to +women. With much gravity he and Florence +set out to buy the wedding-present. It +resolved itself into a silver butter-dish with +a silver cow on the lid, though Florence +tried hard to make him choose a set of +apostle spoons.</p> + +<p>“A butter-dish will be much more useful, +my dear lady.”</p> + +<p>“It will be very useful,” Florence echoed, +though she feared that Ethel would be a +little disappointed when she saw the cow.</p> + +<p>“And now,” said Mr. Fisher, in a benevolent +voice, as they left the silversmith’s in +Bond Street, “we are close to Gunters—if +you would do me the honour to eat an ice?”</p> + +<p>“I will do you the honour with great +pleasure.” And she thought to herself, “His +manner really is like Aunt Anne’s this afternoon. +If she had only married him instead +of that horrid Mr. Wimple, we would have +called him uncle with pleasure.”</p> + +<p>She sat eating her very large strawberry +ice, while he tasted his at intervals, as if +he were rather afraid of it. “Did the +white cockatoo die?” she asked.</p> + +<p>He almost started, he was so surprised at +the question. “The white cockatoo?”</p> + +<p>“You spoke of it last year—that night +when Mrs. Baines dined with us.”</p> + +<p>“I remember now,” he said solemnly. +“Yes; it died, Mrs. Hibbert. For five years +it was perhaps my most intimate friend, and +the companion of my solitude.”</p> + +<p>“Why did it die?”</p> + +<p>“It pulled a door-mat to pieces, and we +fear it swallowed some of the fibre. My +housekeeper, who is a severe woman, beat +it with her gloves, and it did not recover.” +He spoke as if he were recounting a tragedy, +and became so silent that Florence felt she +had ventured on an unlucky topic. But it +was always rather difficult to make conversation +with Mr. Fisher when she was alone +with him; there were so few things he cared +to discuss with a woman. Politics he considered +beyond her, on literary matters he +thought she could form no opinion, and +society was a frivolity, it was as well not +to encourage her to consider too much. +Suddenly a happy thought struck her.</p> + +<p>“I am so happy about our holiday,” she +said; “it is a long time since Walter and +I had a real one together.”</p> + +<p>“I am delighted that it has been arranged. +I feel sure that Walter will enjoy it with so +charming a companion,” he answered, with +an effort at gallantry that touched her.</p> + +<p>“Are you going away this Whitsuntide?” +she asked.</p> + +<p>“No. I seldom go away from London, or +my work.”</p> + +<p>“I wish you were going to have a holiday, +with some one you liked,” she said.</p> + +<p>“My dear lady,” and he gave a little +sigh as he spoke, “I fear the only society I +am fitted for is my own.”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, you are much too modest”—and +she tried to laugh. “Some day I hope to +buy you a butter-dish. I shall like going to +get it so much, dear Mr. Fisher.”</p> + +<p>“I think not,” he answered almost sadly.</p> + +<p>“Ethel says you have been very kind to +her about George,” Florence said in a low +voice, for she was almost afraid to refer to it; +“but you are kind to everybody.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Fisher turned and looked at her with +a grateful expression in his clear blue eyes; +but she knew that he did not want to make +any other answer. Gradually he put on his +editorial manner, as if to ward off more intimate +conversation, and when he left her at +the door of her house, for he refused to come +in, she felt, while she looked after him, as if +she had been present at the ending of the +last little bit of romance in his life.</p> + +<hr class='tbk'/> + +<p>The Hibberts were in high spirits when +they started for their holiday.</p> + +<p>“Two days in Paris,” he said, as they +drove to the hotel; “and then we’ll crawl +down France towards the south, and I will +introduce you to the Mediterranean Sea. +It’s a pity we can only eat one dinner a +night, considering the number of good ones +there are to be had here. To be sure, if we +manage carefully, we can do a little supper +on the Boulevard afterwards; still, that +hardly counts. But I don’t think we can +stay any longer, dear Floggie, even to turn +you into a Parisian.”</p> + +<p>Forty-eight hours later saw them in the +express for Marseille, where they stayed +a night, in order to get the coast scenery +by daylight, as they went on to Monte +Carlo.</p> + +<p>“It’s a wonderful city,” Walter said, with +a sigh, as they strolled under the trees on +the Prado. “The Jew, and the Turk, and +the Infidel, and every other manner of man, +has passed through it in his turn. Doesn’t +it suggest all sorts of pictures to you, darling?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she answered, a little absently; +“only I was thinking of Monty and Catty.”</p> + +<p>“We ought to wait a day, and go to see +Monte Christo’s prison.”</p> + +<p>“Yes”—but she was not very eager. +Her thoughts were with her children. +Walter was able to enjoy things, and to +garnish them with the right memories. “I +wonder if we shall find letters from home +when we get to Monte Carlo?” she said.</p> + +<p>“I hope so,” he answered gently, but he +said no more about the associations of Marseille.</p> + +<p>As they were leaving the big hotel on the +Cannebière, the next morning, a lady entered +it. She had evidently just arrived—her +luggage was being carried in.</p> + +<p>“I shall be here three nights,” they heard +her say to the manageress. “I leave for +England on Thursday morning.”</p> + +<p>At the sound of her voice Florence turned +round, but she had gone towards the staircase. +The Hibberts had to catch their +train, and could not wait.</p> + +<p>“It was Mrs. North, Walter,” Florence +said, as they drove to the station; “I wish +I could have spoken to her. She looked +so lonely entering that big hotel.”</p> + +<p>“But there was no time,” he answered; +“if we lost our train we should virtually lose +a day.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder why she has come here?”</p> + +<p>“The ways of women are inscrutable.”</p> + +<p>“I meant to have written and told her +about Aunt Anne, but I had so much to do +before we left London that I really forgot it.”</p> + +<p>“You might send her a line from Monte +Carlo; you heard her say that she was to +be at Marseille three days: and then, +perhaps, it would be better to leave her +alone.”</p> + +<p>“I should like to write to her just once, +for I am afraid I was not very kind that day; +but she took me by surprise.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, then; write to her from +Monte Carlo. It will give her an idea that +we are not such terrible patterns of virtue +ourselves, and perhaps she’ll find that a +consolation; but I don’t see what more we +can do for her. It is very difficult to help a +woman in her position. She has put out to +sea in an open boat, and, even if she doesn’t +get wrecked, every craft she runs against is +sure to hurt her.”</p> + +<hr class='tbk'/> + +<p>The letter was duly written and sent to +the hotel at Marseille. It found Mrs. +North sitting alone, in her big room on the +first floor. She was beside the open window, +watching the great lighted <span class='it'>cafés</span> and the +happy people gathered in little groups round +the tables on the pavement.</p> + +<p>“Oh, what a pity it is,” she said to herself, +“that we cannot remember. I always feel +as if we had lived since the beginning and +shall go on till the end—if end there is; +but if one only had a memory to match, how +wonderful it would be. If I could but see +this place just once as it was hundreds of +years ago, with the Greek people walking +about and the city rising up about them. +Now it looks so thoroughly awake, with its +great new buildings and horrible improvements; +but if it ever sleeps, how wonderful +its dreams must be. If one could get inside +them and see it all as it once was.” . . . +She turned her face longingly towards the +port, at the far end of the Cannebière. “I +am so hungry to see everything, and to know +everything,” she said to herself—“so hungry +for all the things I have never had.—I +wonder if I shall die soon—I can’t go on +living like this, longing and waiting and +hoping and grasping nothing.—I wish I +could see the water. If I had courage I +would drive down and look at it—or walk +past those people sitting out on the pavement, +and go down to the sea. There might be a +ship sailing by towards England, and I should +know how his ship will look if it, too, ever +sails by. Or a ship going on towards India, +and I could look after it, knowing that every +moment it was getting nearer and nearer to +him. To-morrow I will find out precisely +where the P. & O.’s sail from for Bombay; +then I shall be able to guess what it all +looked like when he set his foot on board, a +year ago. Oh, thank God, I may think of +him a little—that I am free—that it is not +wickedness to think of him—or to love him,” +she added, with almost a sob.</p> + +<p>She got up and looked round the room. +It was nearly dark. She could see the outline +of the furniture and of her own figure +dimly reflected in the long glass of the +wardrobe.</p> + +<p>“The place is so full of shadows they +frighten me; but I am frightened at everything.” +She flung herself down again on +the couch at the foot of the bed. “I wonder +if the people who have always done right +ever for a moment imagine that the people +who have done wrong can suffer as much—oh, +a thousand times more than themselves. +They seem to imagine that sin is a sort of +armour against suffering, and it does not +matter how many blows are administered +to those who have gone off the beaten track.” +She pillowed her head on her arms and +watched the moving reflection of the light +from the street. In imagination she stared +through it at the long years before her, +wondering, almost in terror, how they would +be filled. “I am so young, and I may live +so long.” There was a knock at her bedroom +door.</p> + +<p>“Come in,” she cried, thankful for any +interruption.</p> + +<p>“A letter for Madame.”</p> + +<p>“For me!” She seized it with feverish +haste and looked at the direction by the +window while the candles were being lighted. +“I declare,” she said, when the door was +closed behind the <span class='it'>garçon</span>, “it is from the +immaculate Mrs. Hibbert. May the saints +have guarded her from contamination while +she wrote it to me.” Her happy spirits +flashed back, and the weary woman of five +minutes ago was almost a light-hearted girl +again.</p> + +<p>“It is rather a nice letter,” she said, and +propped up the wicks of the flickering candles +with the corner of the envelope. “I believe +she wrote merely out of kindness; it proves +that there is some generosity in even the +most virtuous heart. I’ll write to Mrs. +Wimple——” She stopped and reflected for +a minute or two. “Poor old lady, she was +very good to me; she was like a mother—no +woman has called me ‘my love’ since +she went away.” She walked up and down +the room for a moment, and looked out again +at the wide street and the flashing lights. +Suddenly she turned, seized her blotting-book, +and knelt down by the table in the +impulsive manner that characterized her. +“I’ll write at once,” she said. “Of course +it will shock her sweet old nerves; but I +know she’ll be glad to hear from me, though +she won’t own it even to herself.”</p> + +<div class='blockquote'> + +<p>“<span class='sc'>Dearest old Lady</span>—</p> + +<p>“I have been longing to know +what had become of you. I only heard a +little while ago that you were a happy bride, +and I have just succeeded in getting your +address. A thousand congratulations. I +hope you are very much in love, and that +Mr. Wimple is truly charming. He is, +indeed, a most fortunate man and to be +greatly envied by the rest of his sex.</p> + +<p>“I fear you will be shocked to hear that +Mr. North has divorced me. I never loved +him, you know. I told you that when you +were so angry with me that day in Cornwall +Gardens, and it was not my fault that I +married him. I have been very miserable, +and I don’t suppose I shall ever be happy +again. But the world is a large place, and +I am going to wander about; I have always +longed to see the whole of it: now I shall +go to the east and west, and the north and +the south, like a Wandering Jewess. But +before I start on these expeditions I shall +be in England for a few weeks and should +like to see you. Would you see me? But +I don’t suppose you would come near me or +let me go near you, though I should like to +put my head down on your shoulder and +feel your kind old arms round me again.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid you have eaten up all your +wedding-cake, dear old lady, and even if you +have any left you would, no doubt, think it +far too good for the likes of me. I wonder +if you would accept a very little wedding-present +from me, for I should so much like +to send you one? My love to you, and +many felicitations to both you and Mr. +Wimple.</p> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:5em;'>“Yours always,</p> +<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;'>“<span class='sc'>E. North</span>.”</p> + +</div> + +<p>When it was finished, her excitement gave +way; her spirits ran down; she went, wearily, +back to the sofa and pillowed her head on +her arms once more. “I wonder what the +next incident will be, and how many days +and nights it is off.” She shut her eyes, and +in thought hurried down the street to the +old port. She saw the masts of ships, and +the moving water, and the passing lights in +the distance. “O God!” she said to herself, +“how terrible it is to think that the land +is empty for me from end to end. Though +I walked over every mile of it, I should never +see his face or hear his voice, and there is +not a soul in the whole of it that cares one +single jot for me. And the great sea is +there, and the ships going on and on, and +not a soul on board one of them who knows +that I live or cares if I die. It frightens me +and stuns me, and frightens me again. I +am so hungry, and longing, and eager for +the utter impossibilities. Oh, my darling, if +you had only trusted me; if you could have +believed that the sin was outside me and not +in my heart; if you had written me just one +little line to tell me that some day, even +though it were years and years ahead, you +would come to me and take me into your life +for ever, I would have been so good—I would +have made myself the best woman on earth, +so that I might give you the best love that +ever Heaven sent into a human heart.” +There was another knock at the door, and +something like a cry escaped from her lips.</p> + +<p>“Come in”—and again the <span class='it'>garçon</span> entered +with a letter. This time it was a thick +packet.</p> + +<p>“This is also for Madame,” he said; “it +is from England.” She waited until the +door had closed behind him before she +opened it.</p> + +<p>The envelope contained a dozen enclosures. +They looked like bills and circulars sent on +from her London address. Among them +was a telegram.</p> + +<p>“I suppose it is nothing,” she said, as, +with trembling hands, she opened it. It was +from Bombay, and contained five words—</p> + +<p>“Sailing next month in <span class='it'>Deccan</span>.”</p> + +<p>She fell down on her knees by the table +and, putting her face on her hands, burst +into passionate weeping.</p> + +<p>“O dear God,” she prayed, “forgive me +and be merciful to me. I have not meant +to do wrong, I have only longed to be happy—let +me be so. I will try to do right all my +life long, and to make him do right, too—only +let him love me still. I have never +been happy, and I have suffered so. O +dear God, is it not enough? Forgive me +and let me be happy.”</p> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/chap8.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0008' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER V.</h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='lead-in'><img class='dropcap' src='images/capi.jpg' style='float:left;width:5%;' alt='I'/>t</span> was chilly as only an English spring +knows how to be. The fir-woods +were deserted—the pathways through them +wet and slippery. But overhead there was +fitful sunshine and patches of blue sky, +though the Surrey hills were misty and the +fields were sodden with many rains. The +leaves were beginning to unfold, fresh and +green; the primroses were thick in the +hedges; and here and there the little +white stitchwort showed itself, tearful and +triumphant. The thrushes and blackbirds +were making ready for summer, though as +yet there was not a sign of it.</p> + +<p>Alfred Wimple and Aunt Anne had been +more than a month at the cottage. The latter +pottered about the garden, looking at every +up-coming plant with absent recognition; but +that was all. She was too sad to care any +more for the delights of the country. She +had grown feeble, too, and could not walk +very far—even the garden tired her. Mrs. +Burnett’s governess-cart had been her great +comfort. She had no fear of doing the +pampered pony, as she called it, any harm, and +had driven herself for hours along the lonely +roads between the fir-trees, and the hedges +of awakening gorse and heather. The +straggling population for three miles round +knew her well—the lonely old lady, with the +black bonnet and the long black cloak +fastened with the steel clasp. Alfred Wimple +never went with her; he had refused from the +very first. But he had a way of disappearing +by himself for long hours together. Where +he went she could never divine; and to ask +him questions, she told herself once, was like +trying to look at the bottom of the sea by +pushing away the water with her two hands. +Still it was a mystery she was determined to +unravel sooner or later: she felt that the +solution lay at Liphook, and dreaded to +think what it might be. Into her heart, +against her will, lately there had sometimes +crept a suspicion that was shame and agony; +but she would not own, even in the lowest, +most secret whisper, that it was possible. +She never went to Liphook, though it would +have been easy enough to drive there; she +never dared: something seemed to hold her +back from that which she felt to be only a +few miles away, on the other side of Hindhead. +She would not try to put into any +shape at all what her dread was: least of all +would her pride let her for a single moment +imagine that it was the one thing of which the +humiliation would kill her. But, silently, she +watched, and hour after hour she sat wondering +what was in the heart of that strange, +inscrutable young man, who spoke so few +words, and seemed to be always watching +and waiting for the accomplishment of some +mysterious plan he revolved again and again +in his mind, but to which he had no intention +of giving a clue.</p> + +<p>He could hire no more waggonettes at +Steggall’s without paying for them, or without +her knowledge; but once or twice she +had seen him going along a by-path towards +the station, so that he would arrive there just +about the time there was a train to Liphook. +She remembered that on the first occasion, +he had pulled a shilling out of his pocket an +hour or two before he started and looked at +it, as if wondering whether it would be +enough for a return ticket.</p> + +<p>“Alfred,” she asked one day, “will you +take me to see your country quarters, my +love? I should like to visit the place which +has been of so much benefit to you?”</p> + +<p>“No,” he answered, looking at her steadfastly, +as he always did; “I don’t wish you +to go there.”</p> + +<p>“May I ask your reason?”</p> + +<p>“My wish should be sufficient.”</p> + +<p>“It is,” she said gently; “for I know, +dear Alfred, that you always have a reason +for what you wish, and you would not prevent +me from seeing a place for which you have +such a preference if you had not a good +one.”</p> + +<p>He was soothed by her conciliatory +manner.</p> + +<p>“I owe some money there,” he said, “and +if you went they might expect you to pay +it”—an answer which satisfied her for a time +on account of its obvious probability. But +still his disappearances tormented her, and +his silence stifled all questions she longed +to ask.</p> + +<p>She liked being at the cottage; she liked +being the virtual mistress of a certain number +of rooms and of a servant of her own; and, +on the whole, the first month had gone +smoothly. Florence and Walter had been +generous, and made many provisions for +their comfort, and she had been separated +less from Alfred than when she was in town. +And here, too, she was better able to keep +some account of his movements. Moreover, +if he disappeared for hours together now, it +had been for days together then. He always +went off silently, without warning or hint, +and as silently reappeared.</p> + +<p>“Have you been for a walk, my love?” +she asked him one evening. He turned and +looked at her: there was no anger in his dull +eyes, but he made her quail inwardly, though +outwardly she showed no sign.</p> + +<p>“Yes”—and she knew, perfectly, he would +tell her no more. Still, hopelessly, she persevered.</p> + +<p>“In what direction did you bend your +steps, dear Alfred?”</p> + +<p>“I dislike being asked to give an account +of my movements, Anne,” he said, and locked +his lips in the manner that was so peculiar +to him.</p> + +<p>“I quite understand, my love,” she +answered gently; “it is also extremely +repugnant to me to be questioned. I merely +asked, hoping that you felt invigorated by +your walk.” He looked at her again, and +said nothing.</p> + +<p>It was nine o’clock. Jane Mitchell, the +postman’s sister, who acted as their daily +servant, came in to say she was going home +till the morning. Aunt Anne followed her, +as she always did, to see that the outer door +was made fast. She looked out at the night +for a moment, with a haunting feeling of +mistrust—of what, she did not know—and +listened to the silence. Not a sound—not +even a footstep passing along the road. The +fir-trees stood up, dark and straight, like +voiceless sentinels. She looked at the stars +and thought how far they were away. They +gave her a sense of helplessness. She was +almost afraid of the soft patter of her own +feet as she went back to the drawing-room. +She winked nervously, and looked quickly +and suspiciously round, then sat down uneasily +before the fire and watched Alfred +Wimple. She knew that again and again +his eyes were fixed upon her, though his lips +said no word.</p> + +<p>“Are you sleepy, my love?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“I am very tired, Anne; good-night”—and, +taking up a candlestick, he went slowly +upstairs while she stayed below, looking at +the deadening fire, knowing that one night, +suddenly, everything would be changed; but +how and when it would be changed she could +not guess. She did not dare look forward a +single day or hour. She extinguished the +lamp and shut the drawing-room door and +locked it, remembering for a moment the +unknown people, in the bygone years, who +had gone out of the room never to enter it +more.</p> + +<p>Gradually the money in their possession +was coming to a sure and certain end. She +knew it, and her recklessness and extravagance +vanished. She guarded every penny +as if it were her heart’s blood, though she +still did her spending with an air of willingness +that concealed her reluctance. Hour +after hour she racked her brains to think of +some new source of help; but no suggestion +presented itself, and he and she together +faced, in silence, the bankruptcy that was +overtaking them. He went less often towards +the station now; he stayed discontentedly +in the drawing-room, sitting uneasily by +the fire on one of the easy-chairs with the +peacock screen beside it. Sometimes, after +he had brooded for a while in silence, he +would get up and write a letter, but he +always carefully gave it himself to the postman, +and no letters at all ever arrived for +him to Aunt Anne’s knowledge.</p> + +<p>“Alfred,” she asked one day, “what has +become of your work in town?—the work +you used to go to your chambers to do?”</p> + +<p>“I am resting now, and do not wish to +be questioned about it. I require rest,” he +said: and that was all.</p> + +<p>Then a time came when he took to walking +in the garden, and she knew that while he +did so he kept a watch on the house, and +especially on the window of the room in +which she was sitting. When he thought +she did not see him he disappeared down +the dip behind and along the pathway +between the fir-trees and larches towards +the short cut to Hindhead. She remembered +that the way to Hindhead was also the way +to Liphook. It was, of course, too far to +walk there, but perhaps there were some +means of obviating that necessity. She said +nothing, but she waited. It seemed to her +as if Alfred Wimple waited too. For what? +Was it for her to die? she sometimes asked +herself, though she reproached herself for +her suspicions. Then all her tenderness +would come back, and she hovered round +him lovingly, or stole away to commune +with herself.</p> + +<p>“I am sure he loves me,” she would think, +as she sat vainly trying to comfort herself—“or +why should he have married me? His +love must be the meaning of mine for him, +and the forgiveness of the past, after all the +long years of waiting. It is different from +what it was then; he is changed, and I am +changed too. I am old with waiting, and he +does not yet understand the reason of his +own youth. I wonder which it is,” she said +one day, almost in a dream, as she rocked to +and fro over the fire—“is he disguised with +youth of which he does not know the meaning; +or am I disguised with years, so that +he does not know that under them my youth +is hidden?”</p> + +<p>Closer and closer came the ills of poverty. +The tradespeople trusted them to some +extent, in spite of the warning they had +received from the Hibberts, but at last they +refused to do so any longer. The stores +that Florence had sent in, too—Aunt Anne +had said, “you must allow me to remain in +your debt for them, my dear”—had gradually +run out. Dinner became more and more +of a difficulty, and at the scanty meal it +was Alfred Wimple who ate, and Aunt +Anne who looked on, pretending she liked +the food she hardly dared to taste. He +knew that she was starving herself for his +sake, but he said nothing. It gave him a +dull gratification to see her doing it. In his +heart there was a resentment that death +had not sooner achieved for his benefit that +which from the first he had meant it to +accomplish. Not that it was within his +scheme to let Aunt Anne die yet; but when +he married her he had not realized the awful +shrinking that would daily grow upon him—the +physical shrinking that youth sometimes +feels from old age. In his nature there was +no idealism, no sentiment. He could not +give her the reverence that even mere age +usually provokes, or the affection, as of a +son, that some young men in his position +might possibly have bestowed. He saw +everything concerning her years with ghastly +plainness—the little lines and the deep +wrinkles on her face, the tremulous eyelids, +the scanty hair brushed forward from places +the cap covered. Even the soft folds of +muslin round her withered throat made him +shiver. He thought once, in one mad +moment, how swiftly he could strangle the +lingering life out of her. Her hands with +the loose dry skin and the bloodless fingers +and wrists that were always cold, as if the +fire in them were going out, sent a thrill +of horror through his frame when she +touched him. The mere sound of her +footstep, the touch of her black dress as +she passed him by, insensibly made him +draw back. He had played a daring game, +but he had an awful punishment. He lived +a brooding secret life, full of dread and +alertness lest shame should overtake him, +and his heart was not less miserable because +it was incapable of generosity or goodness.</p> + +<hr class='tbk'/> + +<p>At last it became a matter of shillings.</p> + +<p>“You had better go to London, Anne,” +he said, “and borrow some money.”</p> + +<p>“Of whom am I to borrow it?” she asked. +“Florence and Walter are at Monte Carlo.”</p> + +<p>“Walter is very selfish,” he answered; +“I nursed him through an illness, years ago, +at the risk of my own life.”</p> + +<p>“I know how tender your heart is, dear +Alfred.”</p> + +<p>“I believe he resents my having borrowed +some money from him once or twice. He +forgets that if he were not in a much better +position than I am he couldn’t have lent it.”</p> + +<p>“Of course he could not, my love,” she +said, agreeing with him, as a matter not +merely of course but of loyalty and affection.</p> + +<p>He gave one of his little gulps. “We +can’t go on staying here, unless we have +enough to eat; I cannot, at any rate. You +must get some money. You had better go +to London.” He looked at her fixedly, and +she knew that he wanted to get rid of her +for a space.</p> + +<p>“Go to London, my love?” she echoed, +almost humbly.</p> + +<p>“Yes, to get money.”</p> + +<p>“Alfred,” she asked, “how am I to get +money? We disposed of everything that +was available before we came here.”</p> + +<p>“You must borrow it; perhaps you can +go and persuade my uncle to let you have +some.”</p> + +<p>“If you would let me tell him that I am +your wife,” she pleaded.</p> + +<p>“I forbid you telling him,” he said shortly. +“But you might ask him to advance your +quarter’s allowance.”</p> + +<p>“I might write and request him to do +that, without going to town.”</p> + +<p>“No. It is easy to refuse in a letter, and +he must not refuse.”</p> + +<p>“But if he will not listen to me, Alfred?” +she asked, watching him curiously.</p> + +<p>“Tell him that Sir William Rammage is +your cousin, and that he has no right to +refuse.”</p> + +<p>“But if he does?” she persisted.</p> + +<p>“Then you must get it elsewhere. There +are those people you stayed with in Cornwall +Gardens.”</p> + +<p>She looked up quickly. “I cannot go to +Mrs. North,” she said firmly. “There are +some things due to my own self-respect: I +cannot forget them even for you.”</p> + +<p>“You can do as you like,” he answered. +“If you cannot get money, I must go +away.”</p> + +<p>“Go away!” she echoed, with alarm; he +saw his advantage and followed it up.</p> + +<p>“I shall not stay here to be starved,” he +repeated.</p> + +<p>“I should starve, too,” she said sadly; +“are you altogether oblivious of that fact, +Alfred?”</p> + +<p>“If you choose to do so it is your own +business, and no reason why I should. I +have friends who will receive me, and I shall +go to them.”</p> + +<p>“Would they not extend a helping hand +to us both?”</p> + +<p>“No,” he said doggedly.</p> + +<p>“They cannot love you as I do,” she +pleaded.</p> + +<p>“I cannot help that. I shall go to them.”</p> + +<p>“I give you all I have.”</p> + +<p>“I want more—more than you give me +now,” he answered; “and if you don’t give it +me, I shall not stay here. You had better +go to London to-morrow, and look for some +money. My uncle will let you have some if +you are persistent.”</p> + +<p>“I think I will go to-day,” she said, with +an odd tone in her voice. “I should be in +time for the twelve o’clock train.”</p> + +<p>“You will go to-morrow,” he replied +decisively.</p> + +<p>“Very well, my love”—and she winked +quickly to herself. “I will go to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Unless you bring back some money, I +shall not stay here any longer. You must +clearly understand that, Anne. I am tired +of this business,” he said, in his hard, determined +voice.</p> + +<p>“It’s not worse for you than it is for me, +Alfred. I can bear it with you; cannot you +bear it with me?”</p> + +<p>He looked at her—at her black dress, her +white handkerchief, at the poverty-stricken +age of which she seemed to be the symbol; +and he shuddered perceptibly as he turned +away and answered, “No, I cannot, and I +want to go.”</p> + +<p>“Alfred!” she said, with a cry of pain, +and going to his side she put her hand on +his arm; but he shook her off, and went a +step farther away.</p> + +<p>“Stay there,” he said sternly.</p> + +<p>“Why do you recoil from me?” she +asked; “am I so distasteful to you?”</p> + +<p>But he only shuddered again, and looked +at her with almost terror in his eyes, as +though he dumbly loathed her.</p> + +<p>“Have I forfeited your love, Alfred?” +she asked humbly.</p> + +<p>“I dislike being touched.”</p> + +<p>“You will break my heart,” she cried, +with a dry sob in her throat. “My dear +one, I have given you all—all I possess; I +have braved everything for you. Has all +your love for me gone?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to talk sentiment,” he said, +drawing back still a little farther from her, +as though he shrank from being within her +reach.</p> + +<p>“Do you remember that night when we +walked along the road by the fir-trees, and +you told me you would always love me and +take care of me? What have I done to +make you change? I never cease thinking +of you, day or night, but it is months since +you gave me a loving word. What have +I done to change you so?”</p> + +<p>He looked down at her; for a moment +there was an expression of hatred on his face.</p> + +<p>“You are old—and I am young.”</p> + +<p>“My heart is young,” she said piteously. +Still he was merciless.</p> + +<p>“It is your face I see,” he said, “not your +heart.”</p> + +<p>She let her hands fall by her side. “I +cannot bear it any more,” she said quickly; +“perhaps we had better separate; these +constant scenes will kill me. You must +permit me to retire; I cannot bear any +more”—and she walked slowly away into +the little drawing-room, and shut the door. +She went up to the glass, and looked at her +own face, long and sadly; she put her wrists +together, and looked at them hopelessly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I am old!” she cried, with a shiver; +“I am old!”—and she sat down on the gaunt +chair by the fireplace, still and silent, till cold +and misery numbed her, and all things were +alike.</p> + +<p>Presently, she heard his footsteps; he had +left the dining-room, and seemed to be going +towards the front door; she raised her head +and listened. He hesitated, turned back, +and entered the drawing-room. He stood +for a moment on the threshold and looked +round the little room—at the hard, old-fashioned +sofa, at the corner cupboard with +the pot-pourri on it, the jingling piano, the +chair on which she sat. He remembered +the day of his interview with Florence, +and afterwards with Aunt Anne, and he +looked at the latter now half doubtfully. +She did not move an inch as he entered, or +raise her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Anne!” There was no answer. She +turned a little more directly away from him. +“Anne,” he said, “we had better make it up. +It is no good quarrelling.”</p> + +<p>“You were very cruel to me, Alfred,” she +said, with gentle indignation; “you forgot +everything that was due to me. You frequently +do.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot always be remembering what is +due to you, Anne. It irritates me.”</p> + +<p>“But you cut me to the quick. I sometimes +wonder whether you have any affection +at all for me.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t be foolish,” he said, with an effort +that was rather obvious; “and don’t let us +quarrel. I dislike poverty—it makes me +cross.”</p> + +<p>“I can understand that,” she said, “but I +cannot understand your being cruel to me.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t mean to be cruel,” he answered; +“we had better forget it.” She stood up and +faced him, timidly, but with a slight flush in +her face.</p> + +<p>“You said I was old; you taunted me +with it; you often taunt me,” she said indignantly.</p> + +<p>“Well, but I knew it before we were +married.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you knew it before we were married,” +she repeated.</p> + +<p>“Then I couldn’t have minded it so much, +could I?” he said, with a softer tone in his +voice, though it grated still.</p> + +<p>“No, my love”—and she tried to smile, +but it was a sad attempt.</p> + +<p>“Well, is it all right?” he asked. “We +won’t quarrel any more.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my love, it is all right,” she said +lovingly, and, half doubtfully, she put up her +face to his.</p> + +<p>Involuntarily he drew back again, but he +recovered in an instant and forced himself to +stoop and kiss her forehead.</p> + +<p>“There,” he said, “it’s all right. To-morrow +you shall go to London, and we will +be more sensible in future.” He touched +her hand, and went out into the garden. +When she had watched him out of sight, she +sat down once more on the chair by the fire.</p> + +<p>“I am old!” she cried; “I am old, I am +old”—and, with a quick movement, as if she +felt a horror of herself, she hid her thin +hands out of sight. “I cannot bear it—I +am old.”</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width:30%'> +<img src='images/tail5.jpg' alt='sprig of flowers' id='iid-0009' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/chap3.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0010' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER VI.</h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='lead-in'><img class='dropcap' src='images/capb.jpg' style='float:left;width:5%;' alt='B'/>efore</span> nine the next morning, Aunt +Anne was ready to set out on her +journey to London. Mrs. Burnett’s governess-cart +was at the gate with Lucas, the +gardener, to drive her to the station. Alfred +Wimple looked on at her preparations to go +with an anxiety that was almost eagerness; +and, stealthily, the old lady watched his +every movement.</p> + +<p>“Jane can prepare the dinner after my +return. I shall bring back some little dainty +with me, hoping that it may tempt you, my +love.”</p> + +<p>“I am very tired of the food we have +had lately,” he said ungraciously. “What +train are you coming back by?”</p> + +<p>“That will depend on my occupations in +town,” she answered, after a moment’s consideration.</p> + +<p>“I will go to the station at half-past six. +You can leave Waterloo Station at five +fifteen.” Aunt Anne winked slowly.</p> + +<p>“I will try to come by an earlier train, my +darling, if you will be there to relieve me +of the packages with which I hope to be +burdened.”</p> + +<p>“No. Come by the five fifteen,” he said +decisively. “I have some letters to write.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, my love,” she answered, with +tender courtesy. “It is always a pleasure +to study your wishes, even in trifles. Would +you assist me with my cloak, dear Alfred?”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t cold, and you have your shawl. +Why are you taking this heavy cloak?”</p> + +<p>“I have my reasons.”</p> + +<p>He understood perfectly. He felt a gleam +of almost fiendish triumph as, one by one, +she divested herself of her belongings to buy +him food and comfort. As she was going +out of the doorway an idea seemed to strike +him.</p> + +<p>“Anne,” he said, “remember it is no good +bringing back a few shillings—you must bring +back a few pounds at least.”</p> + +<p>“Have you any anxieties?—any payment +it is imperative that you should make?” she +asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he answered, with a little smile to +himself, as if an idea had been suggested to +him. “I have a payment to make.”</p> + +<p>“I will do all I can—more for your sake +than my own, dear Alfred,” and she turned +to go. They were in the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>She hesitated for a moment by the door. +“My love,” she said, going up to him doubtfully, +“will you kiss me? You will never +know how much I love you—you are all I +have in the world.” The cashmere shawl +clung to her and the heavy cloak swung +back from her arms as she put them up round +his neck and kissed him, first on one side of +his face and then on the other; but even as +she did so, and though for once he strove +to hide it, she felt that, inwardly, he was +shrinking.</p> + +<p>“I will be back by half-past six o’clock,” +she said, with a hopeless tone in her voice, +and, slowly letting go her hold, she went out +of the house.</p> + +<p>On her way to the cart she stopped for a +moment to look at a pile of faggots that were +stacked in a partly concealed corner inside +the garden gate.</p> + +<p>“Jane,” she said, “I think there have been +some depredations among the wood lately.”</p> + +<p>“I saw two lads stealing a bit the other +morning,” Jane answered.</p> + +<p>“We must take steps to prevent it occurring +again.”</p> + +<p>“There’s plenty of wood, too, about here,” +said Jane; “I don’t see why they should +take ours; but I think they were tramps and +wanted to make a fire. I thought I’d speak +to the policeman—but I couldn’t catch him +when he went by on his beat last night.”</p> + +<p>“I should like to speak to him myself: at +what time does he pass?”</p> + +<p>“Well, ma’am, he is generally pretty +punctual at about half-past eight.”</p> + +<p>“If you see him this evening you can tell +me”—and she got into the governess-cart. +“Jane,” she said, looking back, “I forgot to +tell you that your master and I will dine +at half-past seven. I shall probably bring +back a chicken.” She said the last words +almost recklessly as she set off to the +station.</p> + +<p>She looked back towards the cottage, but +though Alfred Wimple had strolled down to +the gate after she had left it, his face was +turned towards Liphook. There was something +almost fierce in her voice as she spoke +to the gardener, who was driving.</p> + +<p>“The pony seems inclined to procrastinate—you +had better chastise him.”</p> + +<p>“They have spoiled him up at the house,” +said Lucas, “till he won’t go nohow unless +he gets a bit of the whip.”</p> + +<p>“He goes very well with me,” she snapped.</p> + +<p>“He knows your hand, most likely—they +do get to know hands; do you find him shy +much?”</p> + +<p>She made no answer, but looked at the +holes of the sand martens in the cutting on +one side of the road—they always fascinated +her—and at the bell heather, which was just +beginning to show a tinge of colour. “He’s +a bad ’un to shy, he is,” Lucas went on; +“and he’s not particular what it’s at—wheel-barrows, +and umbrellas, and perambulators, +and covered carts, and tramps—he don’t like +tramps, he don’t—and bicycles, and children +if there’s a few of ’em together, and bits of +paper on the road—he’s ready to be afraid of +anything. There’s Tom Mitchell coming along +with the letters—would you like to stop?”</p> + +<p>“I do not expect any, but I may as well +put the question to him,” the old lady said, +very distantly, for she was of opinion that +Lucas talked too much for his station. But +he was not to be abashed easily.</p> + +<p>“Them beeches is coming on,” he said. +Aunt Anne looked up, but made no answer. +“Everything is so late this year on account +of the cold. Tom, have you got any letters +for Mrs. Wimple at the cottage?”</p> + +<p>“There’s one, I know, with a foreign postmark.” +The man stopped and took a packet +out of the leather wallet by his side.</p> + +<p>Aunt Anne, leaning over the cart, saw, as +he pulled out the letter with the French +stamps on it for her, that there was another +beneath, directed, in an illiterate-looking +hand, to “A. Wimple, Esq.,” but it was a +woman’s writing and it had the Liphook +postmark. Her eyes flashed; she could +hardly make her voice steady as she said—</p> + +<p>“I see you have one there for Mr. Wimple; +you will find him at the cottage.” Then she +drove on. She looked at her own letter, a +little bewildered. “It is not from Walter or +Florence,” she said, “yet I know the handwriting.” +She gazed vacantly at the hedges +again, while Peter the pony, urged by arguments +from the whip, went on more swiftly +towards the station. Lucas’s remarks fell +unheeded on her ears. Something was +tightening round her heart that made her +cheeks burn with a fire they had not felt for +long years past.</p> + +<p>“I think we’ll have more rain—them clouds +over there seem like it,” the man said, wondering +why she was so silent, for she generally +liked a chat with him. “Maybe she wanted +to drive him herself,” he thought; “I forgot +to offer her the reins, and it’s no good +changing now, we are so near the station. +The train’s signalled,” he said, as they pulled +up; “but you are in plenty of time.”</p> + +<p>“I calculated that I should have sufficient +time,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“Would you like me to meet you this +afternoon? I will, if you tell me what train +you are coming down by.” She was silent +for a minute, then, suddenly, she seemed to +find courage.</p> + +<p>“I shall leave London by the four thirty +train,” she said. “It is due at Witley at a +quarter to six, and I shall expect to find +you there.” She walked into the station, +with almost a hunted look.</p> + +<p>She managed to get into an empty carriage, +shut the door, and stood up by the window, +winking sternly at the passengers who, in +passing, hesitated whether or not to enter. +As the train moved off she shut the window, +and, sitting down with a sigh, stared out at the +fir-woods and the picturesque Surrey cottages. +She did not see them; she saw nothing and +heard nothing but the rattle of the train, that +gradually shaped itself into the word Liphook—Liphook—Liphook—till +she was +maddened. “It might have been some one +writing to importune him for money,” she +said, thinking of the letter. But if the +difficulty at Liphook were only a debt, she +felt certain that Alfred Wimple would not +have spared her the annoyance of knowing it. +It was a mystery of which her indomitable +pride refused her even the suggestion of one +solution, which yet seemed gradually, and +from without, to be getting burned upon her +brain. A despair that was half dread was +taking possession of her. A desperate +knowledge was bearing down upon her that +the only chance she had of keeping the man +to whom she had bound herself was by +giving him money. He was evidently at +his wit’s end for it, and had no resource of +his own, for whatever was the attraction +at Liphook it did not seem to include money. +Her one chance was to give it him, and to +let him see that she would not fail to give it +him—then, perhaps, he would stay with her. +She stretched out her arms for a moment as +if she were drowning, and trying to save +herself by holding on to him, but she +stretched them only into space, and clutched +nothing. “Perhaps he thinks because I am +old I cannot love properly. Oh, my dear +one, if you would only speak to me out of +your own heart, or if you could only look +into my heart—for that is not old; it is +young. Age makes no difference if he did +but know it—I feel the same as when I was +twenty, and we walked between the chestnuts +to the farm. It is only the years that have +marked me.” And then anger and pride +chased away her misery and tenderness. +“I will have it settled,” she said; “I will +know what it means; and if he has not +treated me properly he shall be called to +account. If Walter and Florence were only +in England, I should not be in this sad +dilemma.” The mention of their names +made her remember the letter in her pocket. +She pulled it out and opened it; it was the +one Mrs. North had written from Marseille. +At another time she would have liked the +congratulations, or have been indignant at +the divorce. Now she passed the news by +with little more than a scornful wink. “It +is most presumptuous of her to have written +to me; she has taken a great liberty; she +has committed a solecism,” she said, almost +mechanically. As she put the letter back +into her pocket her hand touched something +she did not remember to have placed there. +She looked puzzled for a moment, then drew +it out. It was a little necktie of Alfred +Wimple’s, blue with white spots on it. She +understood—it was faded and frayed; she +had put it into her pocket to mend. She +looked at it wonderingly for a moment, +then kissed it with a vehemence that was +almost passion.</p> + +<p>“He thinks I cannot love,” she said; “I +am convinced that is it. If he did but know—if +he did but know.”</p> + +<p>The servant who opened the door at +Portman Square instantly recognized her, +and was disposed to treat her with more +respect than on a former occasion.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Boughton is not here, ma’am,” he +said, in answer to her inquiry.</p> + +<p>“Would you give me the address of his +office?”</p> + +<p>“I can give you the address, but he is +away in Scotland, and not expected back for +another fortnight.” Aunt Anne stood dumbfounded +for a moment, then slowly she +looked up at the servant, with a little smile +that had its effect.</p> + +<p>“It is very unfortunate,” she said; “my +business with him is most pressing. Have +you good accounts of Sir William?”</p> + +<p>“Sir William is back, ma’am. He returned +last week, but he is confined to his room +with another attack.”</p> + +<p>“Does he keep his bed?”</p> + +<p>“Well, he is sitting by the fire just now, +ma’am, writing some letters.” In a moment +Aunt Anne had whisked into the house; she +felt quite exhilarated.</p> + +<p>“Be good enough to take my name to +him, and ask if he is sufficiently well to see +his cousin, Mrs.—Mrs. Baines”—she hesitated +over the last word; “say that I am +extremely solicitous to have a few minutes’ +conversation with him.”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid he won’t be able to see +you——” the servant began.</p> + +<p>“Have the goodness to take up my +name.”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid——” the servant began +again.</p> + +<p>“And say I wish to see him on a matter +of great importance,” she went on imperiously, +not heeding the interruption. She walked +towards the dining-room door, as if she had +a right to the entire house, but suddenly +turned round.</p> + +<p>“I feel certain Sir William will see me,” +she said, “and I will follow you upstairs.”</p> + +<p>Helplessly the servant obeyed her, and +unfalteringly the soft footstep pattered after +him up to the second floor. Then he entered +the front bedroom, while she remained on +the landing.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Baines wishes to know if she can +speak to you, sir,” she heard him say.</p> + +<p>“Tell her I am too ill to see any one,” a +thin, distinct voice answered.</p> + +<p>“She says it is a matter of extreme importance, +sir.”</p> + +<p>“I am writing letters, and don’t wish to +be disturbed: bring my chicken-broth in +twenty minutes.”</p> + +<p>But a moment later, and Aunt Anne had +whisked also into the room, passing the +servant who was leaving it.</p> + +<p>“William,” she said, “you must not refuse +to let me see you once again. I cannot +believe that you are too ill to shake hands +with your cousin Anne.” As she spoke she +looked round the room, and took in all its +details at a glance. It had three windows, a +writing-table and a book-case between them, +facing them, a big four-post bedstead with +dark hangings. To the left was a tall wardrobe +of rosewood that had no looking-glass +let into its panelled doors. By the fireplace +was a roomy easy-chair, in which sat Sir +William Rammage. He was dressed in a +puce woollen dressing-gown, and half rolled +up in a coloured blanket. By his side was +an invalid table, with writing materials on it, +and a flap at the side that stretched over his +knees. In the large fireplace blazed a +cheerful fire, and on the other side of the +fireplace, and facing Sir William, there was +a second easy-chair. He was evidently a +tall man—thin, nervous, and irritable. His +manner was cold and disagreeable, but it +conveyed a sense of loneliness, a remembrance +of long, cheerless years, that in a +manner excused it. He looked like a man +who had probably deserved respect, but had +made few friendships. He was not nearly +as old as he appeared at the first glance; +illness, and work, and lack of human interests +had aged him more than actual years.</p> + +<p>“How do you do?” he said dryly.</p> + +<p>“I have been so grieved to hear of your +illness, William. I hope you received my +letters—I wrote three or four times to tender +you my sympathy.” She looked at the +servant in a manner that said, “Go away”—and +he went, carefully shutting the door.</p> + +<p>“I am not well enough to receive visitors,” +Sir William said, in the same dry voice.</p> + +<p>“My dear William, you must let me stay +with you five minutes; I will not intrude +longer on your privacy”—and she seated +herself on the chair facing him.</p> + +<p>“If what you have to say is of a business +nature, I am not well enough to enter upon +it now.”</p> + +<p>“Did you derive benefit from your stay +at Cannes?—you were constantly in my +thoughts.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, thank you.”</p> + +<p>“I fear you have had to abandon many of +your city occupations,” she went on, in a +sympathetic voice; “it must be a great +regret to the corporation. I was speaking +of your mayoralty some months ago to Mr. +Fisher, the editor of <span class='it'>The Centre</span>.” Aunt +Anne was talking to gain time. Her throat +was choking; her mouth twitched with +restrained excitement.</p> + +<p>“Where did you meet him?” Sir William +asked, in a judicial manner, tapping the arm +of his chair with his thin fingers.</p> + +<p>“I met him at Walter Hibbert’s.”</p> + +<p>He was silent, and seemed to be waiting +for her to go. For a few moments she could +not gather courage to speak again. He +looked up at her.</p> + +<p>“I am much obliged for this visit,” he +said coldly, “but I cannot ask you to prolong +it.”</p> + +<p>“William,” she said, “I came to see you +on a matter of necessity. I would not have +intruded had it been otherwise. On the +occasion of my last visit I saw Mr. Boughton, +but I understand that he is now away.”</p> + +<p>“He will be back in two or three weeks: +you will then be able to see him.”</p> + +<p>She hesitated for a moment, and then went +on doubtfully, “I have been deeply touched +by your kindness.”</p> + +<p>“Yes?” he said inquiringly.</p> + +<p>“That it has been the greatest help to me +I need hardly say; but I have had so many +expenses this winter, it was inadequate to +meet them all.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t quite understand?” He was +becoming interested.</p> + +<p>“There are some weeks yet before the +next quarter is due. I am staying in a +country-house, and the expenses I have to +meet——”</p> + +<p>“What country-house?”</p> + +<p>“Walter and Florence Hibbert’s. It is a +cottage most charmingly situated in Surrey.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose it costs you nothing to stay +there?”</p> + +<p>“They have been most kind. But they +are now abroad, and, naturally, I have appearances +to maintain and the necessities of +the table to provide.”</p> + +<p>“For whom? Only for yourself, I suppose? +You have not a large establishment.” +His thin fingers wandered beneath +the papers on the table, as if they were +seeking for something. They found it, and +drew it a little forward. Aunt Anne, following +the movement with her eyes, saw the +corner of a cheque-book peep out from +beneath the blotting-paper. “You have not +a dozen servants?” he asked ironically.</p> + +<p>“I have only one servant”—she was +getting a little agitated.</p> + +<p>“And yourself?”</p> + +<p>“And some one who is with me.”</p> + +<p>“And doesn’t the some one who is with +you keep you? or do you keep her?” and +he pushed back the cheque-book. Aunt +Anne was silent for a moment. “I suppose +it doesn’t cost you anything to live. What +do you want money for?” He put his +hands on the arms of his chair and looked +at her.</p> + +<p>“William,” she said, “I cannot discuss all +my expenditures, or enter into every detail +of my household”—and there was as much +pride in her tone as she dared put into it. +“I came to ask you if you would have the +great kindness to advance the quarter’s +allowance you are so kind as to give me. +It will be due——”</p> + +<p>“Quarter’s allowance I give you? I don’t +understand. I told you some time ago that +I was not in the habit of giving away money. +I believe you had some of your own when +you started in life, and if you made away +with it that is your own business.”</p> + +<p>“But, William, I am speaking of the +hundred a year you have allowed me lately +through Mr. Boughton.”</p> + +<p>He was fairly roused now, and turned his +face full upon her. There were cruel, pitiless +lines upon it, though she fought against +them bravely.</p> + +<p>“I have allowed you no hundred a year,” +he said angrily, “and I intend to allow +you none. Do you mean to tell me that +Boughton has paid you a hundred a year on +my account?”</p> + +<p>“I understood so,” she gasped, shaking +with fright.</p> + +<p>“I suppose he had some reason for it. If +he has done it out of his own money, it +is his own business. If he has done it +out of mine, I shall have a reckoning up +with him, and probably you will have one, +too.”</p> + +<p>“But, William, have you been under the +impression that I was left to starve?”</p> + +<p>“I was under no impression at all concerning +you. Once for all, Anne, you must +understand that it is not my intention to +give away the money for which I have +worked to people who have been idle.”</p> + +<p>“I have not been idle,” she said; “and +you forget that I am your cousin, that our +mothers——”</p> + +<p>“I know all that,” he said, interrupting +her; “your people and you had your own +way to make in life, and so had I and my +people.”</p> + +<p>“But if you do not help me”—she burst +out, for she could bear it no longer—“if you +do not help me, I shall starve.”</p> + +<p>“I really don’t see what claim you have +upon me.”</p> + +<p>“I am your cousin, and I am old, and I +shall starve,” she repeated. “I must have +money to-day. If I don’t take back money +this afternoon my heart will break.” Again +his fingers went for a moment in the direction +of the cheque-book and tantalized her. +She stood up and looked at him entreatingly. +“I am not speaking only for myself,” +she pleaded, “but for another——” and she +broke down.</p> + +<p>“For whom else are you speaking?” he +asked, withdrawing his fingers.</p> + +<p>“I do not wish to tell you, William.”</p> + +<p>“For whom else?” he repeated, glaring +at her.</p> + +<p>“For one who is very dear to me, and +who will starve, too, unless you help us. +William, I entreat you to remember——”</p> + +<p>“But who is this pauper you are helping, +and why should I help her, too?”</p> + +<p>“It is not a pauper,” she said indignantly. +“It is some one who is dearer than all the +world to me; and, once more, I entreat you +to help us.”</p> + +<p>“Well, but who is it?—is it a child?”</p> + +<p>“No,” she answered, in a low voice, full +of infinite tenderness, and she clasped her +hands and let her chin fall on her breast.</p> + +<p>“Who is it?” he asked sternly.</p> + +<p>“It is my husband”—and almost a sob +broke from her.</p> + +<p>“Your husband!—I thought he was dead?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Baines is dead—long ago; but—I +have married again.”</p> + +<p>“Married again?” he repeated, as if he +could hardly believe his ears.</p> + +<p>“Yes, married again, and that is why I +implore you to help me, so that I may give +the young, tender life that is joined to mine +the comforts that are necessary to him,” she +said, with supplicating misery.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean to say”—and he looked at +her as if he thought she was mad—“that +some young man has married you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she answered, in a low voice; “we +have been married nearly eight months.”</p> + +<p>“And has he got any money?—or does +he do anything for a living?”</p> + +<p>“He is a most brilliant writer, and has +given the greatest satisfaction to Mr. Fisher; +but he has been ill, and he requires country +air and nourishment and luxuries—and I +implore you to help me to preserve this +young and beautiful life that has been confided +to me.”</p> + +<p>“Is he a cripple or mad?”</p> + +<p>She looked up in astonishment.</p> + +<p>“He is a fine, tall young man!” she said, +with proud indignation. “I should not have +married a cripple, William, and I have +already told you that he is a writer on <span class='it'>The +Centre</span>, though he is not able at present to +do his talents justice.”</p> + +<p>“So you have to keep him?”</p> + +<p>“He kept me when he had money; he +gave me himself, and all he possessed in the +world.”</p> + +<p>“What did he marry you for?” Sir +William asked, gazing at her in wonder, +and almost clutching the arms of his chair.</p> + +<p>“He married me”—her voice trembled +and she drooped her head again—“he +married me because—because he loved me.”</p> + +<p>“Loved you! What should he love you +for?”</p> + +<p>“William, do you wish to insult me? I do +not see why he should not love me, or why +he should pretend to do so if he did not.”</p> + +<p>“And I suppose you love him?” he said, +pulling the blanket farther up over his knees +and speaking in a scornful, incredulous voice.</p> + +<p>“Yes, William, I do—I love him more +than all the world; and unless you will help +me so that I may give him those things that +he requires and make our little home worthy +of his residence in it, you will break my +heart—you will kill him, and you will break +my heart,” she repeated passionately. “I +will conceal nothing from you—we are +starving. We have not got a pound in the +world—we have not even food to eat. He +is young, and requires plenty of nourishment; +he is not strong, and wants luxuries.”</p> + +<p>“And you want me to pay for them?”</p> + +<p>But she did not seem to hear him, and +swept on—</p> + +<p>“He must have them or he will die. We +have spent every penny we had—I have +even borrowed money on my possessions. +I can conceal things from strangers, but you +and I belong to the same family, and what +I say to you I know is sacred—we are +starving, William, we are starving, and I +implore you to help me. He says he cannot +stay unless I take back money—that he will +go and leave me.” Something seemed to +gather in her throat—there was a ring of +fright and despair in her voice as she said +the last words. “He will leave me, and it +will break my heart, for he is all the world to +me. It will break my heart if he goes, and +unless I take back money he will leave me!”</p> + +<p>“And let you starve by yourself?—a nice +man to marry.”</p> + +<p>“William,” she said, “he must remember +what is due to himself. He cannot stay if +he has not even food to eat.”</p> + +<p>“And, pray, who is this gentleman?”</p> + +<p>“I have told you that he is a brilliant +writer.”</p> + +<p>“What is his name?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think I am justified in telling you—he +does not wish our marriage to be known.”</p> + +<p>“I can quite understand that,” Sir William +answered ironically. “Did he tell you to +come to me for money?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he told me to do so,” she said, +tragically; “he knew your good heart.”</p> + +<p>“Knew my good heart, did he?” There +was a deadly pallor spreading over Sir +William’s face that frightened her. For a +moment his lips moved without making a +sound, then he recovered his voice, “Tell me +his name—what is it?”</p> + +<p>“William——” she began.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” he cried, and his breath +came short and quick.</p> + +<p>She was too scared to demur any longer.</p> + +<p>“It is Alfred Wimple”—and her heart +stood still.</p> + +<p>He gazed at her for a moment in silence.</p> + +<p>“Wimple,” he said—“what, Boughton’s +nephew? That skunk he had to turn out +of his office?”</p> + +<p>“He is Mr. Boughton’s nephew; and he +left his uncle’s office because the duties were +too arduous for his health.”</p> + +<p>“He left his uncle’s office because he was +kicked out of it. Do you mean to tell me +that you have married him—a man who +never did a day’s work in his life, or paid +a bill that he owed? And as for writing, I +don’t believe one word of it. It’s not a +month ago that his uncle told me of some old +woman, his landlady, forsooth! who had +been to him with a long bill——”</p> + +<p>“It was for his professional chambers. A +man in his position requires them.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; and he’d been sponging on the +woman’s mother, too, in the country. Were +you with him?”</p> + +<p>“No, William, I was not”—and, suddenly, +a load was lifted from Aunt Anne’s heart. +The mystery of Liphook appeared to be +solved, and Alfred Wimple’s account of his +debts to be verified. A world of tenderness +rushed back into her heart and gave her +strength and courage to fight her battle to +the end. “No, I was not with him,” she +repeated; and as she looked up a smile, a +look of almost happiness, was on her face, +that made her cousin more wonder-struck +than ever. “He required country air to +invigorate him, and our means would not +admit of——”</p> + +<p>“Boughton has been allowing you a +hundred a year,” said Sir William; “and this +Wimple has married you,” he went on, a +light seeming to break upon him. “I am +beginning to understand it. I presume he +knows that you are my cousin?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I told him that you were—he spoke +of you with admiration,” Aunt Anne added, +always more anxious to say something gratifying +to her listener than to be strictly veracious.</p> + +<p>“I have no doubt he did. Pray, when did +this fine love-making begin?” Sir William +asked scornfully.</p> + +<p>“Nearly a year ago,” she answered, in a +faltering voice, for she was almost beaten, in +spite of the relief that had been given her a +minute or two ago.</p> + +<p>“And when did Boughton begin to allow +you this hundred a year?”</p> + +<p>“About the time of my marriage.”</p> + +<p>“I perfectly understand. I’ll tell you the +reason of your marriage and of his love for +you in a moment.” With an effort he +stretched out his hand and touched the bell. +“Charles,” he said, when the servant entered, +“unlock my safe.”</p> + +<p>The man pulled back a curtain that had +been drawn across a recess to hide an iron +door. “On the top of the shelf to the left +you will see a blue envelope labelled ‘Last +Will and Testament.’ Give it to me,” Sir +William said.</p> + +<p>A scared look broke over Aunt Anne’s +face; and she watched the proceedings +breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“Lock the safe and go—no, stop—give me +some brandy first.”</p> + +<p>The servant poured a little into a glass +from a bottle which stood on the writing-table +between the windows. The old man’s +hand shook while he took it. Aunt Anne, +looking at him like a culprit waiting for +punishment, noticed a blackness round his +mouth, and that the lines in his face were +rigid.</p> + +<p>“Shall I bring you some chicken-broth, +Sir William?” the servant asked.</p> + +<p>“When I ring. Go.” Then he turned to +Aunt Anne. “Now I will tell you why this +young man loved you.” He said the last +words with an almost fiendish chuckle. “He +loved you because, being a clerk in his uncle’s +office, the office from which he had to be +kicked, he probably knew—in fact, I am +certain that he knew, for he came to ask me +your Christian name when the instructions +were being given—that I had provided for +you in my will. I do not choose to pauperize +people while I live, but I considered it my +duty to leave some portion of my wealth to +my relations, no matter how small a claim +they had upon me. He knew that you +would get a fourth share of my money—probably +he reckoned it up and calculated +that it would amount to a good many +thousand pounds, so he and Boughton concocted +a scheme to get hold of it together.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Boughton knew nothing of our +marriage.”</p> + +<p>“I tell you it was all a scheme. What +should Boughton allow you a hundred a year +for?” He was grasping the will while he +spoke.</p> + +<p>“He knew nothing about it, William—neither +did Alfred.”</p> + +<p>“Well, we’ll put his disinterestedness to +the test”—and he tried to tear the will in +half, but his fingers were too weak.</p> + +<p>“Oh no,” she cried; “no—no——”</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose a young man would +marry an old woman like you for any reason +but gain? That you should have been such +a fool! and for that unwholesome-looking +cur, with his long, rickety legs and red hair—why, +he looks like a stale prawn,” the old +man said derisively, and made another effort +to tear the will.</p> + +<p>“I cannot bear it—William, I implore +you”—and she clasped her hands with +terror.</p> + +<p>He leaned forward with an effort, and put +the will on the fire.</p> + +<p>“Oh no, no—” she cried again, and, +dropping on her knees, she almost snatched +it from the flames.</p> + +<p>He took the poker between his two white +hands, and held the paper down with it.</p> + +<p>“It is cruel—cruel——” she began, as she +watched it disappear from her sight.</p> + +<p>“I think I have made the case clear,” he +said; “and you will see that there is nothing +to be gained by staying. My money was +not made to benefit Mr. Alfred Wimple. I +shall make another will, and it will not contain +your name.” He rang the bell again.</p> + +<p>“You have treated me cruelly—cruelly—but +Heaven will frustrate you yet——” she +said tremblingly, as she rose from her knees. +Anguish and dignity were strangely blended +in her voice, but after a moment it seemed +as if the latter had gained the victory, +“You and I will probably never meet again, +William; you have insulted me cruelly, and +you will remember it when it is too late to +ask my forgiveness. You have insulted +me and treated me heartlessly, yet it was +beside us when we were children that our +mothers——” the servant entered with a +cup of chicken-broth.</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, Mrs. Alfred Wimple,” Sir +William said politely. “Charles, show Mrs. +Wimple downstairs.”</p> + +<p>The man was bewildered at the strange +name, and looked at Aunt Anne doubtfully. +Sir William clutched at the arms of his chair +again, and his head sank back upon the +pillow.</p> + +<p>“William—” she began.</p> + +<p>“Go!” he said hoarsely. For a moment +she hesitated, a red spot had burned itself +on her cheek, and then slowly she followed +the servant down.</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width:30%'> +<img src='images/tail6.jpg' alt='insect within a triangle' id='iid-0011' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/chap3.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0012' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER VII.</h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='lead-in'><img class='dropcap' src='images/capa.jpg' style='float:left;width:5%;' alt='A'/>UNT ANNE</span> went slowly along Portman +Square. She felt, and it was a +cruel moment to do so, that she was growing +very old. Her feet almost gave way beneath +her; her hands had barely strength to hold +her cloak together over her chest. There +was a little cold breeze passing by; as it +swept over her face she realized that she +was half stunned and sad and sick at heart. +But she dragged on, step by step, stopping +once, to hold by the iron railings of a house, +before she could find strength enough to +turn into a side-street.</p> + +<p>“I won’t believe it,” she said; “it was not +for the money. He could not have known; +his uncle would not have told him—it is not +likely that he would have betrayed the confidence +of a client.” And then she remembered +what Sir William had said about the +debt to the landlady in the Gray’s Inn Road +and to the mother in the country. Of course +that meant Liphook. It gave her a world of +comfort, had lifted a terrible dread from her +heart, so that, even in spite of the insults of +the last hour, she felt that her morning’s visit +had not been wholly thrown away. She had +not the faculty of looking forward very far, +and it did not occur to her as yet that, by +revealing her marriage, she had ruined her +prospects with her cousin. It was the insults +that had enraged her; the going back to +Witley, the day’s dinner, and the very near +future, that perplexed her. A month, even +a week hence, might take care of itself, provided +to-day were made easy; it had always +been so with her.</p> + +<p>She was bewildered, staggered, for want +of money; she had just two shillings in the +world. Florence and Walter were still away; +she could think of no one of whom to borrow. +She came to a confectioner’s shop, and looked +at it hesitatingly, for she was tired and +exhausted. Even though Alfred Wimple +waited at the other end, mercilessly ready +to count the coins with which she returned, +she felt that she must buy a few minutes’ +rest for herself. She wanted to sit down +and think. She tottered into the shop, and +having asked for a cup of tea, waited for it, +with a sigh of relief, in a dark corner. But +she was too much stupefied and beaten to +think clearly. When the tea came, hot and +smoking, in a thick white cup, to which her +lips clung gratefully, she felt better. She +began to burn with indignation, which was +an excellent sign; she crushed Sir William +Rammage out of her thoughts, and winked +almost savagely, as though she had felt him +under her foot. She told herself again that +Alfred could not have known about the will, +and had not deceived her about Liphook. +She even tried to think of him affectionately, +though that was difficult, with the dread of his +face before her if she returned empty-handed. +But she did not think of the money question +as despairingly now as she had done a few +minutes since; she had a firm belief in her +own power of resource. She felt certain that +when she had reflected calmly, something +would suggest itself. She remembered Mrs. +North; but it was not possible to borrow of +her, for she had forfeited all consideration to +the regard Aunt Anne thought it necessary +to feel for any one from whom she could +accept a loan.</p> + +<p>“I cannot do that, even for Alfred,” she +said. “I have always held my head so high; +I cannot lower it to Mrs. North, even for +him.” But she took the letter from her +pocket and read it over again. “She does +not seem to comprehend the difference in +our positions,” she said, as she put it back +into the envelope, though not before she had +noticed, with a keen eye, that Mrs. North +had said she would be back in England very +soon, and calculated that that could not mean +just yet. “If Walter and Florence were in +London, I should be relieved of this anxiety +immediately,” she thought. Then a good +idea occurred to her. She considered it +from every point of view, and felt at last +that it was feasible. “I am quite sure,” she +told herself, “that Florence would say I was +justified in going to her mother in her absence. +I will explain to her that there are some +things her daughter would wish me to buy, +and ask her to let me have sufficient money +to defray their cost. Besides,” she added, as +an afterthought, “I must see those dear +children; Florence, I know, would wish me +to do so; and it is an attention I ought not +to omit, after all the regard and kindness +that she and dear Walter have always shown +me.” She got up and looked longingly at +the buns and tarts in the window; though +she had only one unbroken shilling left, she +could not wholly curb her generosity.</p> + +<p>“Would you put me a couple of sponge-cakes +into a bag?” she said to the young +woman, “I hope they are quite fresh; I +prefer them a little brown.” She walked +away, justified and refreshed, holding the +paper bag by the corner.</p> + +<p>But when she arrived at the house near +Regent’s Park, it was only to be told that +Florence’s mother had gone out for the day, +and that the children had not yet returned +from their morning walk. The servant, +seeing how disappointed she looked, begged +her to come in and wait for a little while. +“I don’t think they’ll be long, ma’am,” she +said almost gently. “For,” as she explained +to her fellow-servants afterwards, “I could +not help being sorry for an old lady who had +made a stupid of herself like that.” Aunt +Anne hesitated a moment. “There’s a nice +fire in the dining-room,” the servant continued, +and having persuaded her to enter, +she turned the easy-chair round, and asked +if she should make a cup of tea.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, no,” said Aunt Anne, in a +tone that showed she was sensible of the +desire to please her, but was, nevertheless, +aware of her own position in society. +“I do not require any refreshment; I have +just partaken of an early lunch.” She turned, +gratefully, to the fire when she was alone, +and, putting her feet on the fender, faced +her difficulties once more. She could not +remember any human being in London from +whom, under any pretext whatever, she +could borrow. She was baffled and at bay. +The memory of Sir William’s taunts vanished +altogether as, with a fright that was gradually +becoming feverish, she went over in +her mind every possible means of raising +even a few shillings—though a few shillings, +she knew, would be virtually useless against +the tide she had to stem. Of a very small +sum she was already certain, for she had +devised a means of raising it, but she feared +it would only be sufficient to provide food +for the evening, and perhaps for to-morrow—and +then? She folded her hands and +looked into the fire, shaking her head once +or twice, as if various schemes were presenting +themselves, only to be rejected. The +clock on the mantelpiece struck half-past +one; at half-past four her train left Waterloo +Station. There was little time to lose. +She got up, took off her cloak, and examined +it carefully, then put it round her once more, +fingering the clasp, while she fastened it, as +if it were a thing she treasured. As she +did so, her eye caught a little pile on the +mantelpiece; it consisted of seven shillings +in silver, with a half-sovereign on the top. +She looked at it as if fascinated, and calculated +precisely all it would buy. She remembered, +with dismay, that Jane Mitchell’s +weekly wages were due that evening, that +Jane’s mother was ill, and the money was +necessary. She heard again the hard voice +in which Alfred had said, “Unless you +bring back money, I shall not stay here any +longer.” She could see his eyes, dull and +unrelenting.</p> + +<p>“I know they would give it to me; I know +that Walter and Florence would deny me +nothing that was really for my happiness,” +she thought, and rang the bell. “I fear I +shall not be able to stay and see the children,” +she said haughtily to the servant, but +with a little excitement she could not keep +out of her voice; “my train is, unfortunately, +an early one. And would you tell their +grandmother that I have ventured to borrow +this seventeen shillings on the mantelpiece? +I came up to town with less money than I +find I require; I will write to her in a day +or two, and return it.”</p> + +<p>“It’s the children’s money, ma’am; I +heard their grandmother say they were to +save it up for Christmas.”</p> + +<p>“Dear children,” said the old lady, with +a little smile; “they will be delighted to +hear that I have borrowed it. Tell them +that Aunt Anne is their debtor. Give them +these two sponge-cakes, they will think of +me while they eat them.” She snapped her +purse as she put the money into it, and left +the house with a light footstep.</p> + +<p>She walked on towards Portland Road. +There was only one thing more to do, and +that must be done quickly. It would add +perhaps ten shillings to her purse, but even +that would be a precious sum. She hesitated +a moment. A threat of rain was in the air, +but she did not feel it. The chilly wind +touched her face, but it did not make her +shiver, now that her courage had returned. +She looked up and down Great Portland +Street doubtfully, then went slowly, but with +decision, towards a street she knew well.</p> + +<p>A quarter of an hour later she was in an +omnibus, going to Waterloo Station. The +cloak with the steel clasp had disappeared; +on her face was an expression that betrayed +she had gone through an experience that +depressed her. She watched the people +hurrying by in hansoms, and remembered +the day she had driven in one herself to see +Alfred Wimple off to the country—the day +on which Florence had given her the five-pound +note. She was very weary, and +beginning to long for home. She planned +the evening dinner, and got out a little before +she reached Waterloo, in order to buy it at +the shops near the station. There had been +concealed beneath her cloak all the morning +a square bag, made of black stuff, which now +she carried on her arm. When she stood +on the platform waiting for her train it was +no longer flat and empty, but bulged into +strange shapes that were oddly suggestive. +In her hand she carried three bunches of +primroses, and a smaller one of violets; +under her arm were some evening papers. +She looked satisfied, and almost happy, for +she felt that a few hours at least of contentment +were before her. She entered her +third-class carriage, thinking of the day she +had seen Alfred Wimple off to Liphook; +she remembered, with a little triumph, how +she had exchanged his ticket. “I am sure +the papers will be a solace to him,” she said; +“writing for the press must give him a +deep interest in public affairs—it must have +been a great deprivation to him not to know +all that was going on. My dear Alfred! +these violets shall be my offering to him as +soon as I arrive; I cannot do enough to +compensate him for William’s cruel aspersions +on his character. My darling, if I only +had thousands, I would give them to you; I +would make them into a carpet for you to +walk upon.”</p> + +<p>She was alone in the carriage; she put her +bag carefully down beside her on the seat, +and shut the windows, for the drizzling rain +was coming in aslant, and chilled her. Once +or twice a sharp pang of pain darted through +her shoulders, but she did not mind; she +was dreaming among illusions, and found a +passing spell of happiness that brought a +smile to her lips and a wink of almost merry +anticipation to her eye, as she saw the little +dinner she had devised set out, and Alfred +facing her at table. She imagined him saying, +in the solemn manner in which he said +everything, “I feel better, Anne,” when he +had finished, and she knew that in those few +words she would find a balm for all the insults +and misery of the last few hours. She +repented now that she was returning by the +early train; it seemed like treachery to him. +It had been almost noble of him to conceal +from her the embarrassing debt he had at +Liphook. “He has evidently been reticent,” +she thought, “from a desire to save me pain. +My dear one,—I have wronged him lately, +but I will make it up to him this evening. +I will tell him that there is no poverty or +sorrow I should not think it a privilege to +share with him.” She peered out of the +window at the landscape dulling with the +rain. “I hope he is not in the garden,” she +thought. “He will catch cold, and his cough +was so bad last week. I am glad I remembered +to bring some lozenges for him.”</p> + +<p>The train sped on past Woking and the +fir-woods beyond; they reminded her of +the trees round the cottage at Witley. +When it was dark to-night, she would look +up at them before she bolted the door after +Jane Mitchell. And then she and Alfred +would sit over the fire and talk; he would +feel so much better after his dinner, she was +sure he would be kind to her. He had been +worried lately with poverty, but just for a +little while he should forget it. With the +future she did not concern herself, for she +had already devised a plan that would make +it easy. She would go and see Mr. Boughton, +and of course he would help them when he +heard that Alfred was her husband. He +would continue the allowance he had given +them, and when Sir William Rammage made +a new will he would take care that it was not +an iniquitous one. It had never seriously +occurred to her that William would leave her +money, though, once or twice, the possibility +had crossed her mind. But she had never +been able to look forward at all for herself. +“Now,” she thought, “I must give the future +my consideration. I must think of it for my +dear Alfred. Luxuries are necessary to him; +he cannot divest himself of his longing for +them. Perhaps when Mr. Boughton returns +he will make William ashamed of his conduct +to me to-day, and he will do something for +us before he dies; it would be very detrimental +to his pride that we should starve, +and I did not mince words to-day.” The +train passed Milford Station; in a few +minutes she would be at Witley. “I hope +Alfred won’t be angry with me for coming +by the earlier train,” she thought, with some +misgiving. “I will explain to him that I +had finished my commissions in town sooner +than I had anticipated, and, seeing that the +weather was not likely to improve, I thought +it better to return, even at the risk of his +displeasure.”</p> + +<p>The governess-cart was waiting for her.</p> + +<p>“I brought an umbrella,” Lucas said, “as +it was raining. I noticed you went without +one this morning, and the weather has come +on that unexpected bad, I was afraid you +would get wet through.”</p> + +<p>“I am most grateful for your thoughtfulness,” +Aunt Anne said, with distant graciousness. +She put her bag out of reach of the +rain, and cared little for herself. She was +too full of other matters to trouble about the +weather. As she went along the straight +road, of which by this time she knew every +yard, she mentally counted up the shillings +in her pocket, and considered that she ought +to give one of them to Lucas. “He has +been most attentive,” she said, and she +managed to extract the coin from her pocket, +and put it into her black silk glove, ready for +the end of the journey, which she considered +would be the right moment to present it. +The rain came down steadily. It was no +longer aslant or fitful, and in the sky overhead +there were no changing clouds. “I +fear you have had an unfavourable day,” she +said to Lucas.</p> + +<p>“It has rained mostly all the time. I +hope you won’t catch cold, ma’am. I thought +I saw you with a cloak this morning; have +you left it behind?”</p> + +<p>Aunt Anne resented the question; she +thought it was unduly familiar, and she +answered coldly,</p> + +<p>“I have left it behind—for a purpose. It +required renovating,” she added.</p> + +<p>“I might have brought you a shawl, or +something, if I had known. I called at the +house as I passed to see if Mr. Wimple +would like to come and meet you. But he +wasn’t in.”</p> + +<p>“I hope he is not out in the rain,” she +thought. “Did the servant say if he had +been out long?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“She said he had been gone about an hour. +It’s a pity I missed him.”</p> + +<p>“He probably had an engagement,” she +said, and a little uneasiness stole over her. +Another mile. She could scarcely conceal +her impatience. “Couldn’t the pony run up +this little hill?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“It could,” said Lucas, rather contemptuously; +“but Mrs. Burnett don’t like him to +run uphill, she don’t—she thinks it’s bad for +him.” Aunt Anne was too much engrossed +in her own thoughts to answer. “He goes +faster than the donkey did last year, anyhow, +ma’am; do you mind the donkey?”</p> + +<p>“I frequently drove him.”</p> + +<p>“He was a deal of trouble, he was,” Lucas +went on; “and they didn’t do well by him—gave +four pound ten for him, and when they +come to sell him a year later they only got +two pound five.”</p> + +<p>“So that they were mulcted of just half +the sum for which they had purchased him,” +she said absently, having quickly reckoned +up the loss in her head. “Was there any +reason for that?”</p> + +<p>“Well, you see, this was it,” said Lucas—“when +gentry first come to live about here +they took to keeping donkeys, so donkeys +went up; then after a bit they found they +wouldn’t go, and they took to selling them +and buying ponies, so donkeys went down. +I am afraid you are getting very wet, ma’am. +I wish I had thought to bring a rug to cover +you. But here we are at the house, and +you’ll be able to dry yourself by the fire.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Lucas, thank you,” and she +slipped the shilling into his hand, and, taking +her bulging bag from under the seat, walked +into the house by the back door.</p> + +<p>“Jane,” she asked, the moment she crossed +the threshold, “where is Mr. Wimple?”</p> + +<p>“He went out an hour and a half ago, +ma’am, or a little more perhaps.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know in what direction he +went?”</p> + +<p>“Well, last time I saw him he was in the +garden; then I see him going down the dip.”</p> + +<p>She was silent for a moment, then she +asked gently—</p> + +<p>“Was he at home all the morning?” and +received an answer in the affirmative. She +was silent, and seemed to turn something +over in her mind.</p> + +<p>“You are quite sure he went down the dip, +and not much more than an hour and a half +ago?” She stood by the kitchen fire, and +she spoke absently. “I have brought a sole +for dinner,” she said. “I must ask you to +cook it more carefully than you did the last +one, Jane. Mr. Wimple is most particular +about fish—he cannot eat it unless it is +quite dry. After the sole there is a chicken +and some asparagus. Give me my bag—there +are some other things in it, and a +bottle of claret at the bottom, which I wish +put on the dining-room mantelshelf for an +hour. I trust you have made a good fire, +Jane?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am; but I had to do it of wood, +for the coals are nearly out.”</p> + +<p>“I prefer wood; it is not my intention to +have in more coal just yet,” said Aunt Anne, +firmly. “Where have you put the primroses +I brought? I wish to arrange them in a +bowl for the centre of the table.”</p> + +<p>“Hadn’t you better take off your shawl +first, ma’am—it’s wringing wet—and let me +make you a cup of tea?”</p> + +<p>“No, thank you, I will not trouble you to +do that,” Aunt Anne said gently. “But put +Mr. Wimple’s slippers by the fire in the +dining-room.” She went into the drawing-room +and held a match to the grate, and +stood beside it while the paper blazed and the +wood crackled, thinking that she and Alfred +would sit over the fire cosily that evening +after dinner.</p> + +<p>“I am sure he is worried about money,” +she said to herself, “and that he is in debt; +but he shall not have these anxieties long—it +is much better that his uncle should know +about our marriage.” Her eyes turned towards +the window and the garden and the +trees with the rain falling on them. “I +wonder if he has gone far; I hope he is not +depressed. I fear he worries himself unduly,” +she said, and went into the dining-room. +The slippers were toasting in the +fender; she turned the easy-chair towards +the fire and put beside it a little table from +the corner of the room. Then she went for +the papers she had brought from London, +and arranged them on the table, and put the +bunch of violets in a glass and set it by the +papers. She drew back and looked at the +cosy arrangement with satisfaction. “My +darling Alfred!” she said to herself; and +then, softly, as if she were afraid of Jane +hearing her, she crept out of the front door +and under the verandah that went round the +house, and looked out at the weather. The +rain had nearly stopped, but the sky was +grey and the air was cold. She pulled her +shawl closer, and, trying to shake off the +chill that was overtaking her, went swiftly +down the garden pathway. At the far end +the grass was long and wet; the drops fell +from the beeches and larches above. She +found the narrow pathway that led to the +dip, and went along it. She looked anxiously +ahead, but there was no sign of Alfred. “I +know he will be glad to see me,” she thought. +“I know the silent tenderness of his heart—my +darling—my darling, you are all I have +in the world!”</p> + +<p>On she went among the gorse, between +the firs, and over the clumps of budding +heather, a limp black figure in the misty twilight. +She had no definite reason for supposing +he would return that way; but she +knew it to be a short cut from the Liphook +direction, and some strange instinct seemed +to be sending her on: she did not hesitate +or falter, but just obeyed it. The pathway +was very narrow, the wet growth on either +side brushed her skirts as she passed by—down +and down—lower and lower—towards +the valley. On the other side, a quarter of +a mile away, she could see the little thatched +shed the children called their “house,” where +perhaps in past days a cow had been tethered. +There was not a sign of Alfred. “Perhaps +he is a little farther on, over the ridge,” she +said, and sped on. A miserable aching was +upon her; she had been out of doors many +hours; she was wet and cold through and +through. Every moment the long grasses +and the dead bracken of a past year swept +over her feet. The mist stole up to her +closer and closer. The drops fell from the +leaves above on to her shoulders. “He +must be so cold and wet,” she thought; +“I know he will make his cough worse; +I am glad I kept the lozenges in my +pocket.” She hesitated at the bottom of the +valley for a moment, and then began the +upward path. “I know he wants me,” she +said aloud, with an almost passionate note +in her feeble voice; “I can feel that he +wants me.” She looked through the straggling +firs that dotted the ground over which +she was now making her way. Still, there +was not a sign of Alfred. Only the trees +and the undergrowth, sodden with the long +day’s rain.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there was the sound of a woman’s +laughter. She stopped, petrified. It came +from the little thatched shed twenty yards +away. The side of the shed was towards +her and only the front of it was open, so +that she could not see who was within it. +But she knew that two people were there. +One was a woman, and something told her +that the other was Alfred Wimple. For a +minute she could not stir. Then, as if it had +been waiting for a signal, the rain began to +fall, with a soft, swishing sound, upon the +thatched roof of the shed, upon Aunt +Anne’s thin cashmere shawl, upon all the +drooping vegetation. The mistiness grew +deeper, and from the distances the night +began to gather. The black figure standing +in the mist knew that a few yards off there +was hidden from her that which meant life +or death. She went a little nearer to the +shed, but her feet almost failed her, her +heart stood still, a sickening dread had laid +hold of her. “I will go round and face +them,” she thought, and dragged herself up +to the shed. But as she reached the corner +she heard Alfred Wimple’s voice—</p> + +<p>“You know it’s only for her money that +I stay with the old woman, Caroline.” She +stopped, and rested her head and hands +against the back and sides of the shed, from +sheer fright at what was coming next.</p> + +<p>“Well, but you don’t give me any of it,” +the woman answered.</p> + +<p>“I don’t get any myself now.”</p> + +<p>“Then what do you stay with her for?”</p> + +<p>“Because it won’t do to let her slip.”</p> + +<p>“It’s mother that makes such a fuss—it’s +not me; though, of course, it’s hard, you +always being away like this.”</p> + +<p>“Tell her she won’t gain anything by +making a fuss,” Alfred Wimple said, in the +hard voice Aunt Anne knew so well.</p> + +<p>“She says all the four years we have been +married you have not kept me decently three +months together.”</p> + +<p>Aunt Anne held on to the shed for dear +life, and her heart stood still.</p> + +<p>“I shall keep you decently by-and-by, +Caroline.”</p> + +<p>“And then she’s always going on about +what you owe her. I daren’t go up to +London any more, she leads me such a life.”</p> + +<p>“Tell her I’ll pay her by-and-by,” Alfred +Wimple said.</p> + +<p>“I’m sure if it wasn’t for grandmother +being at Liphook, I don’t know what I’d do. +Sometimes I think I’d better get a place +of some sort—then I’d be able to help you.”</p> + +<p>“But your grandmother doesn’t lead you +a life, Caroline, does she?”</p> + +<p>“Well, you see, it was she made us get +married, so she can’t well, and she has kept +mother quiet on that account; but couldn’t +you come to us again, Alfred? I don’t +believe grandmother would mind. She +thinks you are very wise to stay with your +aunt if you’re going to get her money, and +often tells me I am impatient, but I can’t +bear being parted like this.”</p> + +<p>“And I can’t bear it either”—something +that was equivalent to tenderness came into +his voice. Aunt Anne drew her breath as +she heard it. “You know I am fond of you; +I never was fond of anybody else.”</p> + +<p>“Mother says when you first had her +rooms in the Gray’s Inn Road, there was +some girl you used to go out with?”</p> + +<p>“She was fond of me,” he said; “I didn’t +care about her.”</p> + +<p>“My goodness! look at the rain,” said +the woman, as it came pouring down; “we +must stay here till it’s over a bit. Alfred, +you are sure you are as fond of me as +ever?”</p> + +<p>“I am just as fond of you; I am fonder. +You don’t suppose I stay with an old woman +from choice, do you? I do it just as much +for your sake as mine, Caroline.”</p> + +<p>“Call me your wife again—you haven’t +said it lately—and kiss me, do kiss me.”</p> + +<p>“You are my wife,” he said, “and you +know I am fond of you, and——” Aunt +Anne heard the sound of his kisses. “I like +holding you again,” he went on; “it’s awful +being always with that old woman.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you don’t have to kiss her, as she’s +your aunt,” she said with a laugh.</p> + +<p>“I have to kiss her night and morning,” +he answered; “but I get out of her way as +much as possible—you can bet that.”</p> + +<p>“Mother and grandmother are always +saying, perhaps she will give you the slip +and leave her money to somebody else.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think she’ll do that,” he said; +“but that’s one reason why I keep a sharp +look-out.”</p> + +<p>“Hasn’t she got anything now? You +don’t seem to get much out of her, if she +has.”</p> + +<p>“She’s a close-fisted old woman. Come +up closer on my shoulder—I like feeling +your face there.”</p> + +<p>“Suppose she died to-morrow,” the woman +said—“where would you be then?”</p> + +<p>“Of course there’s that danger. One +must risk something.”</p> + +<p>“And is she sure to get money when this—what +is it—her cousin—dies?”</p> + +<p>“She’ll get five and twenty thousand +pounds. I have seen his will, so I know +it’s true.”</p> + +<p>“Does she know herself?”</p> + +<p>“No”—and he laughed a little short laugh.</p> + +<p>Aunt Anne, listening and shuddering, +remembered, oddly, that she had hardly +ever heard him laugh in her life before.</p> + +<p>“But how did you manage to see the +will?”</p> + +<p>“I told you before, Caroline, I saw it in +my uncle’s office; so there is no mistake +about it, if that is what you mean.”</p> + +<p>Aunt Anne nodded her weary head to +herself. “William Rammage is right,” she +thought; “he is justified. I might have +known that at least he would not deceive me.”</p> + +<p>“And has she left it all to you, Alfred?” +the girl’s voice—for it was a girl’s voice—asked.</p> + +<p>“Every penny. I took good care of that; +and I’ll take good care she doesn’t alter it, +too.”</p> + +<p>“But when do you think she’ll get it?”</p> + +<p>“As soon as this cousin of hers dies. He +has been dying these ever so many months,” +Alfred Wimple said discontentedly; “only +he’s so long about it.”</p> + +<p>“But she won’t give it to you right away +when she has got it herself. You’ll have to +wait till she dies.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think she’ll live long,” he said +grimly; “I’m half afraid, sometimes, that +she won’t last as long as he will, unless he +makes haste.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll have good times, Alfred, once +we’ve got our money?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, we will,” he answered with determination.</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t think that I care only for +the money,” the girl went on; “it’s your +being away that I care about most.”</p> + +<p>“I care about money; I want money, +Caroline. I don’t like being poor.”</p> + +<p>“You see, I have always been poor, and +don’t mind so much.”</p> + +<p>“You won’t be poor by-and-by, when the +old woman is dead. I hope she’ll be quicker +than her cousin over it, for I can’t stand it +much longer.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t she kind to you?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose she means to be kind,” he +said gratingly. “But she whines about me +so, and is always wanting to kiss me”—and +he made a harsh sound in his throat. “I +can’t bear being kissed by an old woman.”</p> + +<p>“It doesn’t matter when she is your aunt; +it isn’t as if you were married to her. Wouldn’t +it be awful to be married to an old woman?”</p> + +<p>“Ugh! I think I should kill her, Caroline. +Let’s talk about something else.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s say all we’ll do when we get our +money, Alfred dear,” the girl said in a +wheedling voice. “I am glad of this rain, +for we can’t go back till it leaves off a bit; +let’s say all we’ll do when we get her money.”</p> + +<p>“I believe you care more about her +money than you do about me,” he said, in +the grumbling voice Aunt Anne knew well.</p> + +<p>“No, you don’t”—and she laughed a +little; “you don’t think that a bit. I am +fonder of you than the day I was married.”</p> + +<p>“You were fond enough then,” he said +almost tenderly; “I remember seeing you +kiss your wedding-gown as you sat and +stitched at it the night before.”</p> + +<p>“I thought I’d never get it done in time.”</p> + +<p>“You were determined to have a new +one, weren’t you?”</p> + +<p>“I thought it would be unlucky if I didn’t, +though there wasn’t anybody but you to see +it. It isn’t that I care for money, Alfred,” +she went on—“don’t think it. It’s only +mother that makes the fuss. We’ll pay her +up quick when we’ve got it, and we’ll be +awfully good to grandmother; but, as for +me, I wouldn’t care if you hadn’t a penny. +It’s only you I want.”</p> + +<p>“And it’s only you I want,” he said, with +a little cough that belied his words.</p> + +<p>“What is that rustling, Alfred—is there +any one about?”</p> + +<p>“It’s only the rain among the grass and +leaves; I wish it’d leave off—I ought to be +getting in.”</p> + +<p>“What time is she coming from London?”</p> + +<p>“I expect she’ll be here soon now. You +had better give me that money, Caroline.”</p> + +<p>“It’s hidden in my dress—wait till I get +it out. I hope mother won’t hear I was +paid, or she’ll wonder what I’ve done with +it.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t do without a little money,” he +said, in the tone Aunt Anne had often +heard; “and the old woman is so close-fisted +she expects me to account for everything +she gives me.”</p> + +<p>“Well, there it is—twenty-two shillings +and sixpence. I don’t want grandmother to +know, for she said last time she wondered +you liked taking it.”</p> + +<p>“A man has a right to his wife’s earnings,” +he said firmly.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ve got three dresses in the house +to do; they’ll come to a good bit. It isn’t +that I mind giving it. Alfred! there’s some +one against the back of the shed.”</p> + +<p>“It’s only the branches of the trees brushing +against it,” he said. “I must go back—the +old woman will be coming home.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t go till it stops raining a bit,” she +pleaded; “and put your arms tighter round +me, I am not with you so often now. Aren’t +you glad I am not an old woman?”</p> + +<p>“Ugh!”—and he made a sound of disgust +again. “Old women make me sick.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you’ll be old long before I am,” +she said, with a triumphant laugh. “My +goodness! look at the rain.”</p> + +<p>Aunt Anne went slowly along the narrow +pathway, down into the valley, and up towards +the larch and fir-trees again. Her +strength was almost spent when she reached +the garden. She bent her head beneath the +downpour, and dragged herself, in such +frightened haste as she could manage, to the +house. She stopped for a moment beneath +the verandah, as if to be sure that she was +awake. She looked, half incredulously down +at her wet and clinging clothes, and then into +the darkness and distance. Beyond the trees +and across the valley she knew that two +people were saying their good-byes. She +imagined their looks and words, and their +caresses. It seemed as if the whole world +were theirs—it had been pulled from under +her feet to make a heaven for them. She +was trembling with cold and fear, but she +told herself that there was one thing left at +which she must clutch a little longer—her +self-control and dignity.</p> + +<p>“I thought,” she said bewildered, and +with the strange hunted look on her face, as +she entered the cottage—“I thought God +had forgiven me and sent him back, but it is +all a mistake. Perhaps it is part of my +punishment.” Everything looked strange +to her; as if years had passed since she had +gone out only an hour ago. She stood by +the drawing-room door for a moment, looking +in at the fire that had burned up and made +a cheerful blaze, but she was afraid to go +nearer to it. She felt like an outcast from +everywhere; there was no place for her in +the world, no one who wanted her, nothing +left to do. And there was no love for her, +and no forgetfulness; she had to bear pain—that +alone was her portion. She wanted most +of all to lie down and die, but death and love +alike are often strangely difficult to those who +need them most. She meandered into the +kitchen, without any settled plan of what she +was going to do.</p> + +<p>“Jane,” she said, “the moment you have +finished taking in the dinner, I want you to +go upstairs and follow the directions I will +give you.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am,” Jane answered, with some +astonishment when she had listened to them; +“but do you mean to-night?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I mean to-night,” Aunt Anne said, +and turned away.</p> + +<p>“Let me take your shawl, ma’am; it is +wringing wet.”</p> + +<p>“I shall be glad if you will divest me of +it,” the old lady said gently, “and if you will +bring me my cap and slippers; I am fatigued, +and cannot ascend the stairs.” She sat down +for a minute, and listened to Jane’s footsteps +going and returning. It seemed as if the +whole house were full of shame and agony; +a single step in any direction might take her +into its midst—she did not dare venture there +till she had finished the task that was before +her. She went into the dining-room, with a +strange, bewildered air still upon her, as if +she were doubtful whether it was the room +that she had known so well, or if it had, +somehow, been changed in the last hour. +The cloth was laid; the primroses were in +their place; the candles were lighted, for it +was nearly dinner-time; the blinds were down, +and the curtains drawn. She looked at the +easy-chair she had put ready for Alfred, with +the little table beside it, and the papers and +the violets. Then she went up to the +mantelpiece and rang a hand-bell that stood +on it.</p> + +<p>“Jane,” she said, “take away Mr. Wimple’s +slippers—he will not require them; put them +with the other things as I told you.” She +pushed the easy-chair to its place, away from +the fire, put the little table back into the +corner, and hid the papers and the violets out +of sight, for she could not bear to see them. +She looked at the cloth again, and taking up +the things that had been laid for her carried +them to the sideboard.</p> + +<p>“You need not set a place for me,” she +said to Jane, who still lingered, half wonderingly. +“I dined early in town; it is only for +Mr. Wimple”—and she went back to the +drawing-room. She hesitated for a moment +by the door; she felt as if the dead people +who had known it in bygone years were +softly crowding into it now, as if they would +witness the scene that was before her, and +look on at all she had to bear, just for a little +while, before she became one of them. She +gathered courage to walk to one of the chairs; +she put the peacock screen beside her and +waited. A quarter of an hour went by, while +she stared at the fire with her hands clasped +and her head drooping, or at the darkness +outside the windows that looked towards the +garden. But she could scarcely bear to turn +her head in that direction. All the time she +was listening, curiously and with a shrinking +dread, for the sound of footsteps. Jane came +to her.</p> + +<p>“The dinner is ready,” she said; “it’s a +pity Mr. Wimple don’t come—I wanted to +get home to mother a bit early to-night. +Her cough was worse this morning.”</p> + +<p>“You can go as soon as you have finished +your duties,” Aunt Anne said; “and remind +me to pay you your wages, for I am often +oblivious——”</p> + +<p>The words died away on her lips. She +heard the handle of the hall-door turn.</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width:30%'> +<img src='images/tail7.jpg' alt='flowers' id='iid-0013' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/chap2.jpg' alt='scene with a castle in the distance' id='iid-0014' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER VIII.</h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='lead-in'><img class='dropcap' src='images/capt.jpg' style='float:left;width:5%;' alt='T'/>he</span> rain showed no signs of abating, +but Alfred Wimple was chilly and +hungry. Moreover, he was tired of the <span class='it'>tête-à-tête</span> +in the shed, and he had a dull curiosity +to hear the result of Aunt Anne’s visit to +town. It was certain to provide some sort +of excitement for the evening. If she had +brought back money he would reap the +benefit of it; if she had not, he could at least +make her suffer, and to watch her suffer +would provide him a satisfaction over which +he gloated more and more with every experience +of it. He buttoned his coat, turned up +the bottoms of his trousers, and looked for +his umbrella; then he hesitated a moment and +looked out at the weather. He hated rain.</p> + +<p>“I wish I had thought to bring myself an +umbrella,” his companion said; “it’s a long +way across. Joe Pook is over at the King’s +Head with his cart, and he’ll drive me back; +but it’s a good bit to there.”</p> + +<p>Alfred Wimple coughed.</p> + +<p>“I can’t let you have mine”—and he held +it firmly; “my chest is not strong.”</p> + +<p>“I wasn’t saying it for that,” she answered; +“I was only thinking it was a pity I didn’t +bring one. Good-bye; you’ll take care of +yourself, won’t you?”</p> + +<p>“I will try,” he said, in his most sombre +manner, as though he felt it to be an +important undertaking. “Good-bye, Caroline.”</p> + +<p>Before they were many yards apart she +turned and went after him. Her jacket was +already wet with rain; her black straw hat +was shining. There was an anxious excitement +in her manner.</p> + +<p>“Alfred”—she put her hand on his +shoulder and looked at his face while she +spoke—“you care about me really, don’t +you?”</p> + +<p>“Why do you ask that now?” he asked +severely.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. Mother said once that +you had love for nothing but yourself. It +isn’t true, is it? Sometimes I think I would +have done better if I had married Albert +Spark. I believe he’s fonder of me now +than you are.”</p> + +<p>He looked impatient and at a loss what +to do. He could not understand unselfish +love; self-protection was his own strongest +feeling; everything else was merely a means, +a weapon to be used in attaining it.</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t keep me in the rain,” he +said; “the old woman will be back by this +time. Why do you think I don’t care for +you?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” and as she spoke the +tears came into her eyes; “I think it was +because you just let me go in the rain and +didn’t see that I’d get wet through. It +doesn’t matter, but I’d like you to have +seen it.”</p> + +<p>“You are stronger than I am. It is +dangerous for me to get wet: I came out in +the rain to meet you.”</p> + +<p>“And then, perhaps I oughtn’t to say it, +but you took the money and didn’t offer me +a shilling to keep for myself.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t know you wanted it. You can’t +expect me to go without anything in my +pocket?”</p> + +<p>“No,” and she burst into tears; “it’s +only sometimes I get dissatisfied,” she added +apologetically.</p> + +<p>“You should have done it in the shed. +You ought not to keep me here in the rain. +You know that.”</p> + +<p>“No, I oughtn’t; you go on, dear”—there +was sudden repentance in her voice. “Just +kiss me and say you are fond of me again.” +He leaned over her, and for a moment his +eyes flashed, as he kissed her with a loathsome +eagerness that left the woman’s heart +more hungry than before.</p> + +<p>“I am fond of you,” he said; “you know +I am fond of you—when I see you. But I +can’t come to Liphook to be dunned for +money.”</p> + +<p>“I always do the best I can to get things +for you; and if I have plenty of work I’ll +take care it’s more comfortable, if you’ll only +come. There, go now, Alfred dear. I don’t +want to keep you in the wet. It’s only that +we have been married these four years, and, +somehow, we never seem to have got any +good of it yet.” She put her arms round his +neck for a moment “I am awful fond of +you,” she said, and turned away.</p> + +<p>Something in her voice touched him; or +it might have been that he was fonder of her +than he supposed, for as he went by the +pathway that poor Aunt Anne had hurried +along, bowed down with insult and despair, +only twenty minutes before, there was a less +sullen expression than usual on his face. +He thought of the clinging hands and tearful +eyes, and the undisguised love written on +her face, with something like satisfaction. +He would settle down with her, once he +possessed the money. He liked the idea of +it; it would be good to be waited upon by +her, to go abroad with her perhaps, to buy +comfort and luxury, and to feel her hanging +about him. He lingered in thought over her +caresses; he remembered Aunt Anne’s and +shuddered. He had said truly enough that +he could not bear the latter much longer; +toleration had grown to endurance, endurance +to dislike, and dislike to loathing. He was +sensible of even being beneath the same roof +with her; her voice irritated him, her touch +produced a feeling that was almost fear. +Every step he made now towards the house +that contained her was reluctant and almost +shrinking. He could just bear life with her +if she gave him good food and comfort and +money he could not obtain elsewhere; but +unless she gave him these things, which he +counted worth any price that could be paid, +he felt it would be impossible to stay with +her longer. Warmth and idleness and +comfort were gods to him; but his loathing +for the poor soul who had struggled for +months to give them to him was developing +into horror. He waited, doggedly, day after +day for Sir William Rammage’s death. +When that happened he would seize the +money that would be hers and, without +mercy, leave her to her fate; he and Caroline +could easily keep out of her reach. If she +would not give him the money he would +make life impossible for her to bear. He +had not the least intention of murdering her, +but in imagination he often put his hands +round her throat, and all his fingers felt her +life growing still beneath them. He resented +everything she did: her voice, her footstep, +her tender, wrinkled face; he felt as if her +winking left eye were driving him mad—as +if there were poison in her breath. He considered +her life an offence against him, except +as a means of giving him money. When +once she had done that, when she had given +him the thousands for which he had married +her, he wanted her for ever out of his sight, +and underground; he gloated in imagination +over the deepness of the grave into which +he would have her put, and the silence and +darkness that would surround her.</p> + +<p>He was at the bottom of the dip. He +reflected, with triumph, that it was too late +for any question of going to the station to +meet the half-past six o’clock train. He +thought of the rain that would fall upon her +as she drove to the cottage. He wondered +if she had left her cloak behind, and +imagined the cold and pain she would suffer +without it. He could see her in the open +cart, bending her head and shoulders beneath +the grey storm, carrying the bag that contained +the dinner for him, and he imagined +the bulging condition in which the bag would +return. If she had not brought back all he +considered necessary for his comfort, she +would tremble to see him, and he would not +spare her one single pang. He was among +the firs and larches, within sight of the +cottage windows. He hated to think that +she was behind them—that almost immediately +he would be in the same room +with her, sitting opposite to her at table. +He thought of himself as a martyr, and of +her as a loathsome burden, a presence that +had no right to be inflicted on him; one that +he would be justified in using any means +within his power to remove. His feeling for +her had grown in intensity till it threatened +to burst the bonds of reserve and silence in +which he had wrapped himself. It was only +with an effort that he could keep in all the +lashing words that hatred could suggest. +He went up the pathway, as slowly as she +herself had done, and walked round the +house under the verandah. Unknowingly, in +putting the easy-chair back into its place, +Aunt Anne had pushed aside a little bit of +the dining-room curtain. He looked in and +saw the table laid, the candles burning, and the +bowl of primroses; they were a sign that she +had returned, and had not returned empty-handed. +He noticed that only one place +was laid, and he wondered vaguely what it +meant. He thought of Aunt Anne’s face, and +a sickening feeling came over him. If it had +only been a girl’s face to which he was going +in, a young woman who would come to meet +him, and put her arms round his neck, and +call him endearing names, instead of the old +woman, shrivelled and wrinkled, to whom in +a moment or two he would have to submit +himself? He went towards the front door, +vaguely determining that he would make her +miserable that night. He had a right to +everything she could give, but she had no +right to intrude herself upon his sight, and +he would make her feel it.</p> + +<p>There was a click at the gate. Some one +had entered the garden from the road. He +stopped. A boy came up to him through +the darkness.</p> + +<p>“Wimple? A telegram, sir. There is +sixpence for porterage.” He felt in his +pocket among the silver the woman had +given him in the shed; he found a sixpence, +and the boy departed. He opened +the yellow envelope, and stood still for a +moment, with the telegram in his hand. +He guessed what it meant. He took a +match from his pocket, struck a light, and, +protecting it from the wind with his hat, +read:</p> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;margin-bottom:1em;'>“Died at five o’clock from sudden attack.”</p> + +<p>He screwed it up into a ball and put it +carefully into his pocket. His feeling for +Aunt Anne changed in a moment: he felt +that for this one evening, at any rate, he +would endure her—he would even be civil—since +it was through her that he was about +to gain all he wanted. He looked up at +the cottage before he entered it with the +almost pleasant feeling with which a prisoner +sometimes looks at his cell before he departs +into freedom. Aunt Anne was sitting by +the drawing-room fire; he lingered by the +doorway.</p> + +<p>“You are home, then?” he said. There +was something exalted in his voice, that at +another time would have made her look up +at him lovingly, as he expected to see her +do now. But, instead, she answered coldly +and without any words of greeting—</p> + +<p>“Yes, Alfred, I am home.”</p> + +<p>“What did you do in town?” She +winked haughtily and did not speak. “What +did you do?” he repeated.</p> + +<p>“I did a great deal, and learned many +things of which I will tell you when you +have finished your dinner. It is quite ready—you +will be good enough to go to it, +Alfred.”</p> + +<p>He looked at her searchingly, and felt a +little uneasiness.</p> + +<p>“Are you coming?” he asked, seeing that +she did not move.</p> + +<p>“No, I have dined; but I trust you will +be satisfied with what I have provided for +you,” she said coldly. Something in her +manner forced him reluctantly to obey. He +went into the dining-room; she shut the +door that led into it and waited in the +drawing-room. Jane came in after she had +served the sole, and drew down the blinds +and arranged the curtains and threw some +wood on the fire.</p> + +<p>“There is only one candle left,” she said, +“till the two in the dining-room are done +with.”</p> + +<p>“It is quite sufficient; you can light it +and put it on the table. As soon as you +have finished waiting upon Mr. Wimple +you will go upstairs and do what I have +told you”—and she was left alone again. +While she looked at the fire she could +almost imagine Alfred Wimple eating his +sole; she knew when it was finished; she +listened while Jane entered and pushed his +plate through the buttery-hatch; she heard +the chicken arrive, and imagined Alfred +Wimple solemnly carving it. Her heart +beat faster as he went on towards the end +of his feast; she was impatient for the crisis +to begin. At last he rose from the table, +opened the door, and stood looking at her +curiously. She rose too and waited, facing +him, on the rug.</p> + +<p>“Did you bring a paper from town, +Anne?” he asked, without a word of gratitude +for his dainty dinner.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I brought some papers; but you +will not require them.” She hesitated a +moment, and then went on firmly, “I wish +you to know, Alfred, that you are about to +leave this house never to enter it again.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” he asked, and +fastened his eyes on her with only a little +more expression in them than usual.</p> + +<p>“I mean that I know everything.”</p> + +<p>“Have you seen my uncle?” he asked, +betraying no surprise and not moving from +the doorway.</p> + +<p>“He is in Scotland for a fortnight—but +I know everything. I know that you have +insulted and defamed me.” She spoke in +a low voice and so calmly that he looked at +her as if he thought she did not understand +the meaning of her own words. “Till I +met you,” she went on, “I bore an unsullied +name and reputation.”</p> + +<p>“What have I done to your name and +reputation?” he asked, and closed his lips +as though he were almost stupefied with +silence. But he went a step towards her, +with a shrinking, defensive movement. She +retreated towards the table on which the +candle stood, a flickering witness of the +scene between them—a scene full of shame +and suffering and unconfessed fear for her, +and of cruelty and loathing and bewilderment +for him; but for both strangely destitute +of fire and passion.</p> + +<p>“You have ruined both,” she said. “You +have dared to make a pretence of marriage +with me, though you were married already +to an inferior person whom you had known +at your lodgings.”</p> + +<p>“Who told you this?”</p> + +<p>“I shall not tell you my informant, but I +know everything. You will retire from my +presence this evening and never enter it +again.”</p> + +<p>“It is not true,” he said shortly, and +made another step towards her, and again +she retreated.</p> + +<p>“It is true. To-morrow I shall go to Liphook +and expose your infamous behaviour.”</p> + +<p>“If you dare,” he said, almost fiercely, +and then, suddenly, he changed his note. +“I was obliged to do it, Anne,” he added, +as if he had suddenly seen that the game +was up, and lying would serve him nothing. +“But I was fond of you; I told you there +were many difficulties the night I asked you +to marry me.”</p> + +<p>“No, Alfred”—and for the first time her +lips quivered—“you were not fond of me, +even then. You were under the impression +that you would get the money Sir William +Rammage had left me in his will.”</p> + +<p>“What should I know about his will?”</p> + +<p>“You were aware of its contents. You +went to him in regard to the instructions. +I have heard everything from his own lips.” +He was silent for a moment, and still there +was no expression in his dull eyes.</p> + +<p>“Rammage could not tell you that I was +married,” he said presently. “Where did +you get that ridiculous story from?”</p> + +<p>“It is not a ridiculous story. You have +married a common dressmaker, and you +presumed after that to insult and impose +on me.”</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do—what do +you want me to do?” he asked, almost +curiously.</p> + +<p>“I shall not treat you with the severity +you deserve, but you will leave this house +to-night and never enter it again.”</p> + +<p>“I should go to Liphook. You would not +like that, Anne.”</p> + +<p>“Alfred,” she said indignantly, “I could +not accept shame and degradation, even +from a man I love. Besides, I have no +longer any love for you. You will not dare +to offer me that. Every moment that you +stay in my presence is an insult. I must +insist on your leaving this house at once.”</p> + +<p>“Where am I to go?” he asked, still +curiously.</p> + +<p>“That is for your consideration. You +and I are apart.”</p> + +<p>“I have no money,” he said, too much +astonished, though he made no sign of it, +to fight her fairly.</p> + +<p>“You have sufficient money for your +present necessities, Alfred. You must not +think that you can deceive me any longer. +I know everything about you.”</p> + +<p>Suddenly an idea occurred to him, and he +asked, in a manner that was almost a threat, +though it had no effect upon her—</p> + +<p>“Have you been to Liphook?”</p> + +<p>“I shall not tell you where I have been, +Alfred; I have discovered your baseness, +and that is sufficient. I know that our +marriage was a mockery, that you dared +to offer me what you had already given to +another woman. You will go back to her, +and at once. You came to me solely for +my money, and of that you will not have +one penny piece.”</p> + +<p>Still he stood looking at her speechlessly, +while with each word she said his loathing +for her increased and his anger grew more +difficult to control. His lips parted and +showed his teeth, white and clenched together.</p> + +<p>“I will have the money yet; and you +shall suffer,” he said.</p> + +<p>“You will not,” she answered, with a +determined wink. “I have taken care of +that.”</p> + +<p>“You have left it to me.”</p> + +<p>For a moment she was silent; then a light +broke upon her, and she spoke quickly.</p> + +<p>“Alfred,” she said, “I know now why you +put your name in my will without mentioning +the relationship in which I supposed you +stood to me, and why you did not put my +name in yours, but only said that you left +everything to your wife. You were deliberately +insulting me, and deceiving me +most cruelly even then, on the day I thought +most sacred.”</p> + +<p>“I thought you were fond of me,” he said, +as if he had not heard her last speech. For +a moment she could not answer him. Only +a few hours before, and the deceptions of +which she had known him then to be guilty +had but made him dearer to her. She had +loved him with all her own strength, and +supposed him to possess it. She had +idealized him with her own goodness, till +she had mistaken it for his. It had never +occurred to her that any comfort she gathered +in through him was but her own feeling +returning to soothe her a little with its +beauty. Now all the glamour had vanished, +she loathed and shrank from him, just as he +had done from her. It was like a death +agony.</p> + +<p>“I was fond of you,” she said. “I loved +you more than all the world, and I would +have given you my life, I would have worked +for your daily bread. I wanted nothing in +the world but you, Alfred; but I am undeceived. +You must go; you must leave +me, and at once. I have desired Jane to +pack your things——”</p> + +<p>“I shall stay,” he said, in a tone that made +her look up quickly. “I do not mean to go +until I have the money that old Rammage +has left you.”</p> + +<p>“You will not have one penny piece of +it,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“I will,” he said, with a quiet, determined +look she knew well in his dull eyes. “He +has left it to you, and you have left it to me. +I mean to have it.”</p> + +<p>“It is no use trying to intimidate me, +Alfred,” she said; “it is too late. To-morrow +I shall make another disposition of +my property.”</p> + +<p>“No, you will not,” he said; “for I shall +not let you out of my sight till you are dead, +and you will be dead soon.”</p> + +<p>“You will gain nothing by that, Alfred. +William Rammage also will make another +disposition of his property to-morrow, for I +told him of our marriage.”</p> + +<p>“No, he will not, Anne” and he looked at +her with awful triumph—“for he is dead +already.”</p> + +<p>“Dead already? You are trying to hoodwink +me, Alfred; and if it is true it will +not alter my intention or prevent me from +carrying it out,” she answered, determined +not to let him know that her promised wealth +had vanished. There was a sound of footsteps, +and then the back door closed. Aunt +Anne quaked when she heard it, for she +knew that Jane had gone home without +coming to say the usual good-night. He +heard it, too, and his tone altered in a +moment.</p> + +<p>“You will have no chance of altering your +intention, Anne,” he said, and went another +step towards her.</p> + +<p>“Why?” she asked, with a fearless wink.</p> + +<p>“Because you shall not live to do it”—and +he went still a little nearer; but she did +not quail for a moment. “Do you hear?” +and he showed his teeth while he spoke, +“you shall not live to do it.”</p> + +<p>“And you think when I am dead that +you will go and spend my money with the +woman at Liphook?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said; “I like her, and I loathe +you.” He drew the word out as if he +gloated over the sound of it, and an awful +look came into his eyes again.</p> + +<p>“Heaven has frustrated your design,” she +said. “Alfred, if you kill me you will gain +nothing by it, and the law will punish you. +William Rammage has burnt his will. He +burnt it to-day before my eyes, when he +heard that I had disgraced my family and +my name by a marriage with you.”</p> + +<p>“Burnt it!” He clenched his hands, +and struggled to control himself. “Then +I shall go; I shall go—when it suits me. I +only wanted your money. A young man +does not marry an old woman for anything +but money, Anne. You are loathsome—loathsome +and unwholesome,” he repeated, +watching the effect of every word upon her—“and +I have loathed being with you. I +shall go to the other woman. She is my +wife; I like her—she is young, not old and +loathsome like you. I only married you for +the sake of your money.” Aunt Anne never +moved an inch; she only watched him +steadily, as slowly he brought out his +sentences, pausing between each one. “You +have kept me from her all these months,” he +went on, concentrating himself on every word +he said; “and now you have taken from me +the money I deserved for being with you—for +being with a wrinkled, withered old woman.”</p> + +<p>She did not move or speak. For a +moment he showed his teeth again, then +slowly lifted his hands.</p> + +<p>“Anne,” he said, with a fiendish look in +his eyes, but with the calm gravity of a just +avenger, “I am going to strangle you”—and +he went nearer and bent over her. He had +no intention of carrying out his threat, it was +a luxury he dared not afford himself, but he +wanted to torture and frighten her till she +quailed before him. For only one moment +was his desire satisfied.</p> + +<p>“If you dare to touch me——” she said, +and a shriek burst from her. There was the +sound of a door opening and of footsteps +entering.</p> + +<p>“Jane!” shouted Aunt Anne, “Jane!”</p> + +<p>Jane opened the door and looked in.</p> + +<p>“If you please, ma’am, I heard Mr. Knox, +the policeman, go by, and you said you +wanted him.”</p> + +<p>Alfred Wimple stared at her in astonishment, +and his face blanched. Aunt Anne +recovered her self-possession in a moment, +though she trembled from head to foot.</p> + +<p>“If you will ask him to stay in the kitchen, +I will speak to him,” she said. Then she +turned to Alfred Wimple again.</p> + +<p>“You will only get yourself laughed at,” +he said.</p> + +<p>She was silent a moment; she saw what +was in his thoughts and took advantage of it.</p> + +<p>“You do not deserve my clemency,” she +said, “but I will extend it to you, provided +you go from the house this minute. If you +do not I shall take measures to punish you.”</p> + +<p>He was trembling, and could not speak.</p> + +<p>She opened the door. “Jane,” she called, +“get Mr. Wimple’s portmanteau; have you +put everything into it?”</p> + +<p>“Everything but the slippers. It’s raining, +ma’am,” Jane added, not in the least understanding +what was going on. But Aunt +Anne had shut the door, and turned to Alfred +Wimple again.</p> + +<p>“Now you will go,” she said.</p> + +<p>“I cannot go in the rain,” he answered, +and made a sound in his throat; “you know +how bad my cough is. You cannot turn me +out in this weather. I was angry just now; +but I did not mean it. I was only trying to +frighten you.”</p> + +<p>“You will go immediately,” she said; +“you shall not remain another hour under +my roof.”</p> + +<p>“It will kill me to go in this rain,” he said +doggedly.</p> + +<p>“You would have killed me when you +thought you would get William Rammage’s +money by it; and just now you threatened +me, Alfred. You are not fit to remain +another hour in the same house with the +woman you have wronged, and you shall not. +Your coat is in the hall, ready for you”—and +she went towards the door. “You will +go this very moment, and you will never +venture to come near me again.”</p> + +<p>“I have been coughing all day,” he almost +pleaded, utterly confounded by the turn +things had taken.</p> + +<p>“I brought you some lozenges from +London, before I knew all your baseness”—and +she fumbled in her pocket. “Here they +are, and you can take them with you.” She +put them down before him on the table, and +went slowly out to the kitchen. “Officer,” +she said, “I will not detain you about the +wood this evening. I want you to walk with +Mr. Wimple as far as Steggall’s, and see him +into a waggonette; and there,” she added, in +a low voice, “is a half-crown to recompense +you for your trouble.”</p> + +<p>“It’s very wet, ma’am; is the gentleman +obliged to go to-night?”</p> + +<p>“Yes”—and, winking sternly, she opened +the street door wide. “Yes, he is obliged +to go to-night.” With a puzzled air Jane +picked up the portmanteau. Alfred Wimple +took it from her with sulky reluctance. For +a moment they all stood looking out at the +blackness of the fir-trees and listened to the +falling rain. Aunt Anne turned to the little +hat-stand in the hall. “Here is an umbrella, +Alfred,” she said, “and you have your +lozenges. Good-night, officer”—and she +did not say another word. Alfred Wimple +gave her a long look of cowed and baffled +hatred, as he went out, followed by the +policeman. She shut the door, double-locked +it, and drew the bolts at the top and bottom—it +was the last sound that Wimple heard +as he left the cottage.</p> + +<p>For a moment she stood still, listening to +his footsteps; she waited to hear the click +of the gate as it shut behind them. Then, +with a strange, dazed manner, as if she were +not quite sure that she was awake, she went +back to the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>“If you please, ma’am,” asked the servant, +“isn’t Mr. Wimple coming back to-night?—for +you won’t like being left alone, and I +don’t know what to do about mother.”</p> + +<p>“You can go to her,” Aunt Anne answered. +A desperate longing to be alone was upon +her; she wanted to think quietly, and it +seemed impossible to do so while any one +remained beneath the same roof with her. +She was impatient for a spell of loneliness +before she died. She felt that she was going +to die, that she had heard her death-sentence +in the shed beyond the valley. There was +no gainsaying it—shame and agony were +going to kill her. But first she wanted to +be alone, to realize all that had happened, +and how it had come about. She remembered +suddenly, but only for a moment, that +Alfred had stated that Sir William Rammage +was dead. It was untrue, of course—Alfred +could not have known. Besides, William +Rammage’s life or death concerned her no +longer; in his money she took no further +interest. She only wanted to be alone and +to think. “You can go to your mother, +Jane,” she repeated; “I wish to be left alone; +I have a predilection for solitude.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am,” the girl answered hesitatingly—“and +you said I was to remind +you about the wages; I wouldn’t, only +mother’s bad.”</p> + +<p>“I will pay them.” She opened her purse +and counted out the few silver coins left in +it. “I must remain a sixpence in your debt; +this is all the change I have for the moment.” +She put her empty purse down on the table, +and knew that she had not a penny left in +the world. For a moment she was silent; +she looked puzzled, as if she were doing a +mental sum. Then she looked up. “Jane,” +she said, “you can take the remains of the +chicken and the sole to your mother, and +anything else that was left from dinner. I +shall not require it.” She dreaded seeing +the things that Alfred Wimple had touched. +She felt that, even down to the smallest +detail, she must rid herself of all that had +had to do with her life of shame and disgrace, +and there was not much time left her in which +to do it. She must begin at once: when +she had made her life clean and spotless +again she would look up and meet death +unabashed.</p> + +<p>“I am ready, ma’am,” Jane said presently, +and looked in, with her basket on her arm. +Aunt Anne got up and followed her to the +back door, in order to see that it was made +fast. She shook with fear when she beheld +the night. Under that sky and through the +darkness Alfred Wimple was making his way +to Liphook. The very air seemed to have +pollution in it. She retreated thankfully to +the covering of the cottage; but the stillness +appalled her, once she was wholly alone in +it. She stood in the hall for a moment and +listened: there was not a sound. She waited +for a moment at the foot of the stairs and +remembered Alfred’s room above, from which +every trace of him had been removed, but +she had not courage to mount the stairs. +She went back into the little drawing-room +and shut the door, and taking up her empty +purse from beside the candlestick put it into +her pocket. As in the morning, her hand +touched something that should not be there; +but she knew what it was this time, and +pulled it out quickly. It was the blue tie +that she had kissed in the train. With +almost a cry of horror, as if it were a deadly +snake, she threw it on the fire and held it +down with the poker, as William Rammage +had held down his burning will. As she did +so her eyes caught the wedding-ring on her +left hand; in a moment she had pulled it off +her trembling finger and put it in the fire too. +The flame blazed and smouldered and died +away, and her excitement with it. But she +had not strength to rise from the floor on +which she had been kneeling; she pulled the +cushion down from the back of the easy-chair, +and sank, a miserable heap, upon the rug.</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width:30%'> +<img src='images/tail8.jpg' alt='butterfly within a triangle' id='iid-0015' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/chap1.jpg' alt='sea scene with a fence going into the sea' id='iid-0016' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER IX.</h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='lead-in'><img class='dropcap' src='images/capd.jpg' style='float:left;width:5%;' alt='D'/>uring</span> the days that followed she was +shut up in the cottage alone; and no +one entered save Jane Mitchell, who came in +the morning to light the fire while the remnant +of coal lasted, and then was sent away.</p> + +<p>“I shall not require you any more,” she +said to Lucas, when he came to ask if she +wanted the pony. She was covered with +shame, and could never drive along the roads +again.</p> + +<p>“No, I do not need any provisions,” she +said to Jane Mitchell, who offered to do +some shopping for her; “I have sufficient in +the house, and I will not trouble you to come +again, Jane, until this day week”—and, +having securely fastened the outer doors, she +went to the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>“I shall be dead by then,” she thought, +“and Jane will find me.”</p> + +<p>She was terribly ill, but she did not know +it. The cold and the damp of that long day +in London and afterwards had laid hold on +her. She coughed, and knew that swift +pains went through her, and a load was on +her chest, but she had no time to notice +these things. She had had no food for days. +Save a little milk in a cup, and some bread, +there was nothing left when Jane Mitchell +took her departure. She was being slowly +starved; she knew it, and did not care. +The awful shame, the misery, the agony, +that had overtaken her, stifled all other feelings, +and were killing her; she knew that, +too, and waited for death. Everything had +gone out of her life; there was nothing to +come into it more. She had been proud of +her memories, her unsullied past, her own +spotlessness—“Now it is all gone,” she said +to herself. Every memory was a reproach +or was hideous. She sat on one of the +chairs before the drawing-room fireplace, and +thought and thought and thought, till she +could bear it no longer. It seemed as if +pain were stamping the life out of her, as if +she must be dying; she could feel that she +was dying; but life remained by a little, and +grew keen, and tortured her again. The key +was turned in the lock of Alfred Wimple’s +room, but his touch was on everything in +the house; and a shrinking from it was her +strongest feeling concerning him. Even the +sight of a cup from which he had drunk made +her shudder more than the bitter cold. +“The place is contaminated,” she said to +herself; “it is poisoned.” Sometimes for +a few minutes a little tenderness would try +to push its way into her heart again, but she +shrank from that most of all, and with horror +and loathing of herself. She was bowed +down with disgrace. She felt as if by even +living she was committing an offence against +the whole world. There was no one she +was fit to see; she had no right of any sort +left, no business to be in the light; and there +was no place in which she could hide. The +nights were worst of all, they were so long +and still; and when she had used the two +candles left in the dining-room she had no +means of shortening them even by an hour. +Then, quaking, she lay on the hard sofa +in the drawing-room, while the darkness +gathered round, and the cold fastened its +sharpest fangs into her. In those long hours +she suffered not only her own reproaches, +but the reproaches of the dead—of the dear +ones she had loved in bygone years. From +every corner they seemed to come—through +the closed door and in at the curtained windows; +troops of them—till she could bear it +no longer, and dared not see the darkness +that seemed to be growing white with +their faces. But when she closed her eyes +it was no better: they came a little closer +and touched her with their hands, as if +they would push her a little farther into +space; she was not fit to be among them. +The friends of her girlhood, with whom she +had played and shared her little secrets, came +from the strange world into which they had +carried the memory of their own blameless +lives. They looked at her reproachfully, +and went away; she would never be one +of them now, even in eternity. And there +was one more; she could see him coming +softly through the shadows. He stood +beside her, and she cowered and hid her +face. Then she knew that he was sorry and +understood that, in some grotesque manner, +it had been done half for love of him. It +comforted her a little to think this, while +she turned her face down to the cushion, and +sobbed, “Forgive me, I am so ashamed—so +ashamed.” At last, perhaps, she would ache +with fever and cold, and the sharp pains +went through her again. She welcomed +these almost lovingly, thinking that perhaps +they meant the coming of the end; and +gradually, as the morning broke, she would +doze off into a weary sleep.</p> + +<p>Sometimes a ghastly fear would seize her +that Alfred Wimple was coming back. She +could hear his footsteps going round the +house; she fancied he was creeping beneath +the verandah, that he was trying the window. +He wanted to come in and strangle her. +She could feel his long hands closing round +her throat, and put up her own to draw them, +finger by finger, away. It was not the +killing she would mind, but the pollution of +his touch.</p> + +<p>Through the day she wandered from room +to room—now looking at the table at which +he had sat the last night of all; or seeing +him, with his back to the buttery-hatch, eating +the sole and the chicken she had brought +from London; or standing in the doorway, +when he came afterwards and asked her for +the evening paper. She went to the window +and looked at the garden, and the pathway +down to the dip; but this was more than she +could bear, and she would turn away and sit +down by the empty fireplace again. She +grew hungry once; a terrible craving for +food came over her. She gathered some +sticks together, and made a fire, all the time +seeing strange visions and grinning fiends +that mocked her. She took them to be the +punishment of her sin—for sin she counted +all that she had done—but in reality they +were but signs of the illness and starvation +that were contending for the mastery of her. +She put a little water on to boil over the +blazing sticks, and watched it greedily. She +made some tea, with trembling eagerness, +and found a new excitement in the strength +it gave her; but when the fire had died +away, and an hour had passed, she was +prostrate again. Gradually she became so +ill that she could scarcely drag herself from +the drawing-room to the kitchen; the sense +of being unfit to stay in the world grew upon +her—a dread of seeing people, a haunting +fear of some one coming to the door. But +no one came through all those terrible days +except, once or twice, Jane Mitchell, only to +be told that “her services were not required.”</p> + +<p>She thought of Walter and Florence sometimes, +and was afraid of their coming back. +She could never look them in the face again, +or dare to speak to them, or see the children. +Just as before she had exaggerated her own +importance in the world and her own virtue, +now she exaggerated her own disgrace. +She knew what the women she had once +despised felt like—“I was never lenient,” +she said to herself. “I was very harsh, as +if they had gone out of their way to do wrong. +I ought to have shown them more clemency”—and +as she said this, there came before her +the face of Mrs. North. She sat and looked +at it. “She was young, and there was excuse +for her; and I am old, yet could not +forgive her. I will make atonement now. +I will write and tell her.” Her fingers were +so weak she could hardly hold the pen, but +she managed to put down a little entreaty +for forgiveness. “I ought to have been more +gentle to you,” she wrote. “I know that +now, for I have been as frail”—she stopped +and gave a sad little wink at the word—“as +you. I know what your sufferings have +been by my own, and can pity your humiliation.” +The letter remained on the table—she +almost forgot it; fever and blackness +filled her life—she could scarcely walk across +the room.</p> + +<p>The morning brought the postman, with a +letter from Walter and Florence. “Would +you put a postage-stamp on this for me?” +she said, giving him the one for Mrs. North. +“I will repay you the next time you come; +I have no change for the moment.”</p> + +<p>She put the letter with the Monte Carlo +postmark on the mantelpiece, and stood +looking at the familiar handwriting, and +imagining them together beneath the blue +sky, Walter in high spirits, and Florence +with her pretty hair plaited round her head. +“Dear children,” she said. “He is growing +more and more like his father.” She +closed her eyes for a moment; her limbs +swayed and gave way beneath her; and she +fell from sheer weakness, and could make no +effort to rise. Presently she pulled the +cushion down, and lay on the rug again as +she had on the night of Alfred Wimple’s +departure. She did not know how the day +passed—probably most of it went in forgetfulness. +The next afternoon came, and she +had not noticed the hours.</p> + +<p>The click of the gate, and footsteps coming +towards the house—Aunt Anne struggled +up, panting, and listened—a quick knock at +the door. She hesitated, raised herself to +her feet by the armchair, and went out, but +could not gather courage to undo the lock.</p> + +<p>“Who is it?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Let me in,” cried a voice that was familiar +enough, though she could not identify it. +She bowed her head—she was about to be +looked at in all her humiliation—and, with +trembling hands, opened the door.</p> + +<p>Mrs. North walked in, with a happy laugh. +She was perfectly dressed, as usual, and +carried a white basket.</p> + +<p>“My dear old lady,” she said, “what is +the matter? Your letter frightened me out +of my senses. I came off the moment it +arrived. You poor old darling, what is the +matter? Why, you can’t stand—I must +carry you.” She supported the old lady +back into the drawing-room—cheerless and +cold enough it looked; that was the first impression +Mrs. North had of it—and sat down +beside her on the sofa.</p> + +<p>“My love,” the old lady said, “I wrote to +ask your forgiveness; it was due to you that +I should, for I am worse than you. If I was +harsh to you once, you may be harsh to me +now.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. North pressed her hand.</p> + +<p>“But you are ill, dear Mrs. Wimple,” she +said.</p> + +<p>Aunt Anne looked up, with a start of +horror.</p> + +<p>“I must ask you never to call me by that +name again; it is not mine. It is the symbol +of my disgrace. It is my greatest punishment +to remember that I ever for a single +moment bore it.” And then she broke down, +and, dropping her head on Mrs. North’s +shoulder, sobbed as if her heart would break.</p> + +<p>“You dear—you poor old dear,” Mrs. +North said, stroking the scanty gray hair; +“I can’t bear to see you cry—you mustn’t do +it; you are ill. Who is here with you?”</p> + +<p>“There is no one here. I am not fit to +have any one with me. I am all alone.”</p> + +<p>“All alone!”</p> + +<p>“Yes”—and she shook her head.</p> + +<p>“Then I shall stay and take care of you, +and nurse you, and make you quite well +again. You know I always cared for you, +dear old lady”—and Mrs. North kissed her +tenderly.</p> + +<p>“And I treated you with so much severity,” +Aunt Anne said ruefully.</p> + +<p>“It was very good for me. And now,” +Mrs. North said, in her sweet, coaxing voice, +“put your feet up on the sofa; you are +trembling and shaking with cold. Why, you +have no fire; let us go into another room +where there is one.”</p> + +<p>“There is no fire in the house,” Aunt +Anne answered. “The weather is very +mild; moreover, the coal-cellar needs replenishing. +I have not been sufficiently well +to do it.”</p> + +<p>“No fire!—and you evidently suffering +from bronchitis. Oh, you do indeed need +to be looked after. Have you no servant +here?” Mrs. North was rapidly taking in +the whole situation.</p> + +<p>“No, my dear. I wished to be alone.”</p> + +<p>“But this is terrible. We must set everything +to rights. You appear to be killing +yourself. I don’t believe you have anything +to eat and drink in the house.”</p> + +<p>“No. I have been too ill to require +nourishment; I regret that I cannot ask +you to stay——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but I am going to stay——”</p> + +<p>“No, my love, I cannot allow it——” +Aunt Anne began tremblingly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. North looked at her, almost in despair. +Then she took off her hat and gloves, +and stood for a moment, a lovely picture in +the middle of the dreary room, before she +knelt down by Aunt Anne.</p> + +<p>“Let me stay with you,” she pleaded, +taking the two thin hands in hers; “you +were always so good to me. I know that +something terrible has happened to you; +you shall tell me what it is by-and-by, +when you are better. Now I want to +take care of you; and you will let me, won’t +you?”</p> + +<p>“You shall do anything you like, my +dear,” Aunt Anne gasped, too weak to offer +resistance.</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. North went out to the fly, +which was still waiting at the gate, and +found Jane Mitchell, who, attracted by the +unusual sight, was talking to the driver.</p> + +<p>“I want some coals sent at once, and a +servant.”</p> + +<p>“I was the servant, if you please, ma’am; +only Mrs. Wimple said she didn’t want me,” +remarked Jane.</p> + +<p>“Then go in immediately and make a fire,” +answered Mrs. North, imperiously; “and if +there are no coals get some, from a shop +or your mother’s cottage or anywhere else. +There must be shops in the village. Order +tea and sugar, and everything else you can +think of. I will send to London for my +maid and cook, to come and help you. +Make haste and light a fire in the drawing-room. +Where is my shawl? Here, driver, +take this telegram; and order these things +from the village, and say they are wanted +instantly”—she had written the list on the +leaf of a note-book; “and this is for your +trouble,” she added.</p> + +<p>“Now, you dear old lady,” she said, going +back to her, “let me put this shawl over +your feet first, for we must make you warm. +Consider that I have adopted you.” In a +moment she ran upstairs, and searched for +a soft pillow to put under Aunt Anne’s head, +and then produced some grapes and jelly +from the basket which, with a certain foresight, +she had brought with her. Aunt Anne +sucked in a little of the jelly almost eagerly, +and as she did so Mrs. North realized that +she had only just come in time. “We must +send for a doctor,” she thought; “but I am +afraid that everything is too late.”</p> + +<p>In twenty-four hours the cottage looked +like another place. Mrs. North’s cook had +taken possession of the kitchen; a comfortable-looking, +middle-aged maid went up and +down the stairs; the windows were open, +though there were fires burning in all the +grates. There were good things in the +larder, and an atmosphere of home was +everywhere. Aunt Anne was bewildered, +but Mrs. North looked quite happy.</p> + +<p>“I have taken possession of you,” she +explained, the second morning after she +came. “You ought to have sent for me +sooner. In fact, you ought never to have +left me. You only got into mischief, and +so did I.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my dear,” said Aunt Anne, feebly, +“we both did.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. North’s lips quivered for a moment.</p> + +<p>“It shows that we ought to have stayed +together,” she said, half crying. “Perhaps +I should have been better if you had not +gone. Oh, I shall never forget all you told +me this morning.”</p> + +<p>For Aunt Anne, in sheer desperation, as +well as in penitent love and gratitude, had +poured out the whole history of her life since +she left Cornwall Gardens, and Mrs. North’s +keen perception and quick sympathy had +filled in any outlines that had been left a +little vague.</p> + +<p>“We know each other so well now, I +don’t think I ought to call you Mrs. Baines +any longer. I want to call you something +else.”</p> + +<p>“Let it be anything you like, my dear.”</p> + +<p>“What does the Madon—Mrs. Hibbert, +call you? But I know; she calls you +‘Aunt Anne.’ Let me do the same?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, dear, you shall call me Aunt Anne.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I am so glad to be with you,” Mrs. +North went on. “I have longed sometimes +to put down my head on your lap and cry. +I have been just as miserable as you have—more, +a thousand times more; for my +shame”—she liked indulging Aunt Anne +in her estimate of her own conduct—“has +been all my own wicked doing, but yours +was only a sad mistake. I don’t think we +ought to be separated any more, Aunt Anne; +we ought to live together, and take care of +each other.”</p> + +<p>“My dear,” said the old lady, still lying +on the sofa, “there will be no living for +me; I am going to die.”</p> + +<p>“Oh no,” Mrs. North answered, with a +little gasp, “you are going to live and be +taken care of, and loved properly. I wish +the doctor would come again. Then I should +speak on medical authority. Go to sleep +a little while; I will sit by you.”</p> + +<p>An hour passed. Aunt Anne opened +her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Could you put me by the fire, my dear? +I am very cold.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, of course I can; but wait a moment. +Clarke will come and help me. Clarke,” +she called, “I want you to come and help +me to move Mrs. Baines.</p> + +<p>“Now you look more comfortable,” she +said, when it was done. “There is a footstool +for your feet, and the peacock beside +you to keep you company.”</p> + +<p>Aunt Anne sat still for a moment, looking +at the fire.</p> + +<p>“My dear,” she said presently, “I have +been thinking of what you said; we have +both suffered very much; we ought to be +together. Only now you have the hope of +a new life before you. But we have both +suffered,” she repeated.</p> + +<p>Mrs. North knelt down beside her with +a long sigh. “Suffered,” she said. “Oh, +dear old lady, if you only knew what I have +suffered; the loneliness of my girlhood, the +misery of my marriage, the perpetual hunger +for happiness, the struggle to get it. And +oh! the longing to be loved, and the madness +when love came, and then—then—but +you know,” she whispered, passionately—“I +need not go over it; the shame, and the +publicity, and the relief I dared not to acknowledge +even to myself, when I was set +free. And then the awful dread that even +he, the man for whom I did it all, would +perhaps despise me as the rest of the world +did. I am not wicked naturally, I am not, +indeed; I don’t think any woman on this +green earth has loved beautiful things and +longed to do righteous things, more than I +have, or felt the misery of failure more +bitterly.”</p> + +<p>“It will come right now, my love,” Aunt +Anne said gently. “You are young; it +will all come right. You said you had a +telegram, and that he was coming back?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he is coming back,” Mrs. North +answered, in a low voice; “but I do not +want him to set it right because I did the +wrong for him, or just to make reparation +from a sense of honour. I do not want to +spoil his life; for some people will cut him +if he marries me; it is only—only—if he +loves me still, and more than all the world, +as I do him—that is the only chance of it +all coming right. It is time I had a +letter. But here is your beef-tea. Let us +try and forget all our troubles, and get a +little peace together.” She looked up with +an April-day smile, took the beef-tea from +Clarke, and, holding it before Aunt Anne, +watched with satisfaction every mouthful +she took.</p> + +<p>“I fear I give you a great deal of trouble,” +the old lady said gratefully.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t trouble”—and the tears came to +her eyes; “it is blessedness. I never had +any one before to serve and wait on whom +I loved; even my hands are sensible of the +happiness of everything they do for you. +It is new life. But now we have talked too +much, and you must go to sleep.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my love,” and Aunt Anne put her +head back on the pillow; “I will do as you +desire, but you are very autocratic.”</p> + +<p>“Of course.” Mrs. North laughed at +hearing the familiar word, and then went +to the dining-room for a little spell of +quietness.</p> + +<p>“Clarke,” she said to the maid who +had been waiting there, “go in and watch +by Mrs. Baines; she must not be left +alone.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. North sat down on the chair that +Aunt Anne had pulled out for Alfred +Wimple after her return from London.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I wonder if it will come right?” +she said to herself. “If it does—if it does—if +it does! But I ought to have had a +letter by this time; it is long enough since +the telegram from Bombay. Something +tells me that it will come right; I think that +is the meaning of the happiness that has +forced itself upon me lately. It is no use +trying to be miserable any longer. Happiness +seems to be coming near and nearer. +I have a sense of forgiveness in my heart; +surely I know what it means? Perhaps, as +Aunt Anne says, all I have suffered has +been an atonement for the wrong. One +little letter, and I shall be content. The +dear old lady shall never go away from me; +she shall just be made as happy as possible.” +She got up and went to the window, and +leaned out towards the garden. “Those +trees at the end,” she said to herself, “surely +must hide the way down to the dip, where +she listened. It is very lovely to-day”—and +she looked up at the sky; “but I wish +the doctor would come, I should feel more +satisfied.” There was a footstep. “Yes, +Clarke; is anything the matter? Why have +you come? You look quite pale.”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Baines is going to die, ma’am; I +am certain of it.”</p> + +<p>“Going to die?” Mrs. North’s face turned +white, and she went towards the door.</p> + +<p>“I don’t mean this minute, ma’am; but +just now she opened her eyes and looked +round as if she didn’t see, and then she +picked at her dress as dying people do at +the sheet—it’s a sure sign. Besides, she is +black round the mouth. I don’t believe she +will live three days.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. North clasped her hands, with fear.</p> + +<p>“I wish she would stay in bed; the +doctor said she ought to do so yesterday; +but she seemed better, and begged so hard +to come down this morning that I gave way.”</p> + +<p>“It’s another sign,” said the maid; “they +always want to get up towards the last.”</p> + +<p>“The doctor promised he would be here +by twelve, and now it is nearly two.”</p> + +<p>He came an hour later. “She must be +taken upstairs at once,” he said; so they +carried her up, Clarke and the doctor between +them, while Mrs. North followed +anxiously; and all of them knew that Aunt +Anne would never walk down the stairs +again.</p> + +<p>Then a telegram was sent to Florence and +Walter at Monte Carlo.</p> + +<p>But she was a little better in the evening, +and Mrs. North brightened up as she saw +it. Perhaps Clarke was a foolish croaker, +and signs were foolish things to trouble one’s +self about. The old lady might live, after +all, and there would be some happiness yet.</p> + +<p>“No, Aunt Anne, you are not going to +get up yet,” she said next morning, in +answer to an inquiring look; “you must +wait until the doctor has been; remember it +is my turn to be autocratic.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my love,” and she dozed off. Half +her time was spent in sleep. Since Mrs. +North’s arrival there had stolen over her +a gradual contentment, as if a crisis had +occurred, and the blackness of the past +grown dim. Perhaps it was giving place +to all that was in her heart, or to the sound +of Mrs. North’s fresh young voice, and the +loving touch of her hand. Be it what it +might, Alfred Wimple and the misery that +he had caused seemed to have gone farther +and farther away, while peacefulness was +stealing over her. “It is like being with +my dear Florence and Walter,” she said to +Mrs. North once—“only perhaps you understand +even better than they could, for you +have gone through the pain.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, dear Aunt Anne, I have gone +through the pain”—and Mrs. North sat +waiting for the doctor again, not that she +was very uneasy to-day, for the old lady was +a little better, and hope grows up quickly +when youth passes by.</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width:30%'> +<img src='images/tail9.jpg' alt='flowers' id='iid-0017' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/chap2.jpg' alt='scene with a castle in the background' id='iid-0018' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER X.</h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='lead-in'><img class='dropcap' src='images/capt.jpg' style='float:left;width:5%;' alt='T'/>he</span> sound of the door-bell, and of some +one being shown into the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>“The doctor has come, Aunt Anne,” Mrs. +North said. “I will invigorate myself with +a talk before I bring him to you, and tell +him that you are much better.” But instead +of the doctor she found a little, dried-up-looking +old gentleman standing in the +middle of the room, holding his hat and +umbrella in one hand. She looked at him +inquiringly.</p> + +<p>“I understood that Mrs. Baines was here,” +he said. Mrs. North looked up, with expectation. +“I have come from London +expressly to see her on important business. +I was solicitor to the late Sir William Rammage,” +he added. Mrs. North’s spirits revived. +This looked like a new and exciting +phase of the story.</p> + +<p>“Are you Mr. Boughton?”</p> + +<p>“I am Mr. Boughton,” and he made her +a formal little bow. “I see you understand——”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” she said eagerly; “and the +ex-Lord Mayor was the old lady’s cousin. +I regret to say that she is very ill in bed, +and cannot possibly see you, but I should +be happy to deliver any message.” Mr. +Boughton looked at her, with benevolent +criticism, and thought her a most beautiful +young woman. She meanwhile grasped the +whole situation to her own satisfaction. +That horrid Lord Mayor, as she mentally +called Sir William, had probably told his +solicitor all about Alfred Wimple; and the +little dried-up gentleman before her, who +was (as she had instantly remembered) the +uncle, had come to see how the land lay. +Mrs. North felt as convinced as Sir William +had done that the whole affair was a conspiracy +between the uncle and nephew, and +she promptly determined to make Mr. +Boughton as uncomfortable as possible.</p> + +<p>“I quite understand the business on which +you have come to see Mrs. Baines,” she +said, with decision, but with a twinkle of +mischief she could not help in her eyes. +“You have heard, of course, that the conduct +of your delightful nephew, Mr. Alfred +Wimple, is entirely found out.”</p> + +<p>“God bless my soul!” said Mr. Boughton, +astonished out of his senses. “What has +he to do with Mrs. Baines?”</p> + +<p>“You perhaps approved of his romantic +marriage?” Mrs. North inquired politely. +She was enjoying herself enormously.</p> + +<p>“His romantic marriage!” exclaimed the +lawyer. “I know nothing about it. My +dear madam, what do you mean? Is that +scoundrel married?”</p> + +<p>“Most certainly he is married,” Mrs. +North went on; “and, as far as I can +gather particulars from Mrs. Baines, your +charming niece is a dressmaker at Liphook.”</p> + +<p>“At Liphook!” exclaimed Mr. Boughton, +more and more astonished; “why—why——”</p> + +<p>“Where she lives with her grandmother,” +continued Mrs. North, in the most amiable +voice. “Her mother, I understand, lets +lodgings in the Gray’s Inn Road, and it was +Mr. Wimple’s kind intention to pay the +amount he owes her out of Mrs. Baines’s +fortune.”</p> + +<p>“Good gracious!—that was the woman +who came to me the other day. I never +heard of such a thing in my life. How +did he get hold of Mrs. Baines?” There +was something so genuine in his bewilderment +that Mrs. North began to believe in +his honesty, but she was determined not to +be taken in too easily.</p> + +<p>“The details are most exciting, and will +be exceedingly edifying in a court of justice. +Now may I inquire why you so particularly +wish to see the old lady?”</p> + +<p>“I came to see her about the late Sir +William Rammage,” Mr. Boughton said, +finding it difficult to collect his scattered wits +after Mrs. North’s information.</p> + +<p>“Is he really dead, then?” she asked +politely.</p> + +<p>“Most certainly; he died on the fifth, and +Mrs. Baines——”</p> + +<p>“She is much too ill to see anybody; and +as I understand he burnt his will, and has +not left her any money, it is hardly worth +while to worry her with particulars of his +unlamented death.”</p> + +<p>“Burnt his will? Yes, for some extraordinary +reason he did—so Charles, the +man-servant, tells me—he did it in her +presence. He had no time to make another, +for the agitation caused by her visit killed +him.”</p> + +<p>“Or perhaps it was the mercy of Providence,” +remarked Mrs. North.</p> + +<p>Mr. Boughton did not heed the remark, +but asked—</p> + +<p>“May I inquire if you are in Mrs. Baines’s +confidence?”</p> + +<p>“Entirely,” she answered decisively.</p> + +<p>“Then I may tell you that no former will +has been found, and she is next-of-kin. +There are no other relations at all, I believe, +and she will therefore inherit about three +times as much as if the burnt will had +remained in existence.”</p> + +<p>“Really!”—and Mrs. North clapped her +hands for joy. And then the tears came +into her eyes. “Oh, but it is too late, for +she is dying; nothing can save her; she is +dying. I have telegraphed to her nephew +and niece to come back from Monte Carlo. +She has had a terrible shock, from which +she will never recover; and besides that +she has virtually starved herself and taken +a hundred colds. She has not the strength +of a fly left. I know she is dying,” Mrs. +North added, with almost a sob.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think that the good news I +bring might save her life?”</p> + +<p>“No; and I am not sure that it would be +good to save her life, she has suffered so +cruelly. What a wicked old man Sir William +Rammage was!” she burst out, and looked +up sympathetically at Mr. Boughton.</p> + +<p>“He was my client,” the lawyer urged.</p> + +<p>“He allowed the poor old lady to starve +for want of money, and now that he is dead +and she is dying it comes to her.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is very unfortunate—very unfortunate.”</p> + +<p>“Everything seems to be a point of view,” +Mrs. North went on, in the eager manner +which so often characterized her. “Poverty +is the point of view from which we look at +the riches we cannot get; from vice we look +at virtue which we cannot attain; from hell we +look at the heaven we cannot reach. Perhaps +Sir William Rammage would appreciate the +latter part of the remark now”—she said +the last words between laughter and tears.</p> + +<p>“My dear madam,” Mr. Boughton exclaimed, +in rather a shocked voice, “pray +don’t let us begin a discussion. To go back +to Mrs. Baines, I think if I could see +her——”</p> + +<p>“It is quite impossible; you would remind +her of your horrible nephew, and that would +kill her.”</p> + +<p>“What on earth has she got to do with +my nephew?”—and this time his manner +convinced Mrs. North that he was not an +impostor.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Boughton,” she said gravely, “the +old lady is very, very ill. The doctor says +she cannot live, and I fear that the sight of +you would kill her straight off; but, if you +like, I will go and sound her, and find out if +she is strong enough to bear a visit from +you”—and, the lawyer having agreed to +this, Mrs. North went upstairs.</p> + +<p>“Dearest old lady”—her girlish voice had +always a tender note in it when she spoke +to Aunt Anne—“I have some good news +for you—very good news. Do you think +you could bear to hear it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my love,” Aunt Anne answered +wheezily, “but you must forgive me if I am +sceptical as to its goodness.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. North knelt down by the bedside, +and stroked the thin hands. “Mr. Boughton +is downstairs; he has come to tell you that +Sir William Rammage is dead.”</p> + +<p>“Then it is true,” Mrs. Baines said sadly. +“Poor William! My dear, we once lay in +the same cradle together, while our mothers +watched beside it—what does Mr. Boughton +say about Alfred?”</p> + +<p>“He doesn’t appear to know anything +about his wickedness.”</p> + +<p>“I felt sure he did not; I never believed +in the depravity of human nature.”</p> + +<p>“Then how would you account for Mr. +Wimple?” she asked, with much interest.</p> + +<p>The old lady considered for a moment.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps he was my punishment for all I +did in the past. I have thought that lately, +and tried to bear it—only it is more than I +can bear. It has humiliated me too much. +Tell me why Mr. Boughton has come; is it +anything about Alfred?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” was the emphatic answer; +“and if you see him I advise you not to +mention Mr. Wimple’s name.”</p> + +<p>“My dear,” Aunt Anne said impressively, +“except to yourself, his name will never pass +my lips again. I feel that it is desecration +to my dear Walter and Florence to mention +it in their house. I shall never forgive myself +for having brought him into it. But +perhaps all I have suffered is some expiation; +you and I have both felt that about our +frailty”—and she shook her head. “What +is the good news?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Boughton brought it, and it is about +Sir William’s money.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Baines was silent for a moment; then +she looked up, with a little wink, and a smile +came to her lips. “I should like to see +him,” she said. “But will you help me to +get up first? I think if I could sit by the +open window I should be better.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you would, you dear; it’s warm +enough for summer. Let me help you into +your dressing-gown. Stay, you shall wear +mine. It is very smart, with lavender bows; +quite proper half-mourning for a cousin. +There—now—gently”—and she helped the +old lady into the easy-chair by the window. +It was a long business, but at last she was +safely there, with the sunshine falling on her, +and the soft lace and lavender ribbons of +Mrs. North’s dressing-gown about her poor +old neck.</p> + +<p>“And are you sure it’s good news, my +love?” she asked Mrs. North.</p> + +<p>“I am quite sure,” Mrs. North answered, +as she tucked an eider-down quilt round +Aunt Anne. “He has come from London +on purpose to bring it to you.”</p> + +<p>“Has he partaken of any refreshment since +he arrived?”</p> + +<p>“No; but I will have some ready for him +when he comes down from his talk with you. +Now you shall have your <span class='it'>tête-à-tête</span>”—and +Mrs. North went back to the lawyer.</p> + +<p>“You must break it to her very, very +gently, and you mustn’t be more than five +or ten minutes with her,” she said, as she +took him up to the bedroom door.</p> + +<p>Aunt Anne was so much fatigued with the +exertion of getting up that she found it a +hard matter to receive Mr. Boughton with +all the courtesy she desired to show him. +She took the news of her fortune very +quietly; it did not even excite her.</p> + +<p>“It is too late,” she said. “Nothing can +solace me for what I have lost; but it will +enable me to make provision for my dear +Walter and Florence.” Her eyes closed; +her head sank on her breast; she put out +her hand towards the window, as if to clutch +at something that was not there.</p> + +<p>Mr. Boughton saw it, and understood.</p> + +<p>“I cannot repay you for your kindness +and consideration,” she went on presently. +“Even when I have discharged my pecuniary +obligation I shall still remain your debtor. +But there are some things I should like to +do. I wish Mrs. North to have a sum of +money; I will tell her my wishes in regard +to it.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I had better return in a day or +two. You must forgive me for saying, my +dear madam, that, with the vast sum that is +now at your disposal, you ought to make a +will immediately. I could take instructions +now if you like.”</p> + +<p>“Instructions?” she repeated, with a +puzzled air; “I will give them all to Mrs. +North, and you can take them from her. +You will not think me inhospitable if I ask +you to leave me now, Mr. Boughton? I am +very tired. Tell me, did they send for you +when William Rammage died?”</p> + +<p>“They telegraphed for me immediately, +and when I got to the office I found your +letter waiting for me—the one you wrote +before you left London, giving me your +address here.” She did not hear him; her +eyes had closed again, and her chin rested +down on the lavender ribbons; the sunshine +came in and lighted up her face, and that +which Mr. Boughton saw written on it was +unmistakable.</p> + +<p>“You are quite right, my dear madam,” +he said to Mrs. North, as he sat partaking +of the refreshment Aunt Anne had devised +for him; “it has come too late.”</p> + +<p>He looked at his watch when he had +finished. “I have only a quarter of an hour +to stay,” he said. “Before I go, would you +give me some explanation of the extraordinary +statements you made on my arrival?”</p> + +<p>“You shall have it,” Mrs. North answered +eagerly; “but wait one moment, till I have +taken this egg and wine to Mrs. Baines and +seen that the maid is with her.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a remarkably handsome girl,” the +lawyer thought, when she had disappeared; +“I wonder where I have heard her name +before, and who she is?” But this speculation +was entirely forgotten when he heard +the story of his nephew’s doings of the last +few months. “God bless my soul!” he +exclaimed; “why, he might be sent to +prison with hard labour—and serve him +right, the scoundrel.”</p> + +<p>“I am delighted to hear you say it,” Mrs. +North answered impulsively. “Please shake +hands with me. I am ashamed to say I +thought it all a conspiracy, even after you +came, and that is why I was so disagreeable.”</p> + +<p>“Conspiracy, my dear madam?—why, the +last thing I did to Wimple was to kick him +out of my office; and I have been worried +by his duns ever since. As for the will she +made in his favour, get it destroyed at once, +or he may give us no end of trouble yet. +She has virtually given me instructions for +a new one. I told her I would come in a +day or two, but I think it would be safer to +come to-morrow. It will have to be rather +late in the day, I am afraid, but I can sleep +at the inn. In the meantime get the other +will destroyed. Why, bless me! if she died +to-night it might make an awful scandal; I +would not have it happen for all I am +worth.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Boughton departed; and the doctor +came, and gave so bad a report that Mrs. +North sent off yet another telegram to +Walter and Florence—this time in London—asking +them not to waste a moment on +their arrival, but to come straight to Witley. +And then the second post brought her the +morning’s letters which had been sent on. +Among them was one with the Naples postmark, +which she tore open with feverish +haste and could scarcely read for tears of joy.</p> + +<p>“I could not write before,” it said. “I +am detained here by a friend’s illness; but +now that I am thus far I send you just a +line to say I shall be with you soon, and I +shall never leave you again. I hate to think +of it all. The fault was mine, and the suffering +has been yours. But I love you, and +only live to make you reparation.”</p> + +<p>“It is too much happiness to bear,” she +said, with a sob. “It is all I wanted, that +he should love me—I must write this minute, +or he will wonder”—and she got out her +blotting-case, just as she did at the hotel at +Marseille—it seemed as if that scene had +been a suggestion of this—and, kneeling +down by the table, wrote—</p> + +<p>“I am here with Mrs. Baines, and she is +dying. I have just—just had your letter. +Oh, the joy of it! What can I say or do?—you +know everything that is in my heart +better than words can write it down.”</p> + +<p>She sealed it up; and, seizing her hat, +went once round the garden, for the cottage +seemed too small a house to hold so great +a happiness as that which had come upon +her. She looked up to the sky, and thought +how blessed it was to be beneath it, and +away at the larches and fir-trees, and wondered +if he and she would ever walk between +them. Something told her that they would +if—if all came right, if she found that he +loved her so much that he could not live +without her. They would lead such ideal +lives; they would do their very best for +every one, and make so many people happy, +and cover up the past with all the good that +love would surely put it into their hearts to +do. “It would be too much to bear,” she +said to herself; “it is too much to think of +yet. I will go back to my dear old lady, +and comfort her.”</p> + +<p>Aunt Anne was much better for her interview +with Mr. Boughton. The excitement +had done her good, and some of her little +consequential ways had returned with the +knowledge of her wealth.</p> + +<p>“I am glad to see you, my love,” she said +to Mrs. North; “I have many things to +discuss with you if you will permit me to +encroach on your good nature. Would you +mind sitting down on the footstool again +beside me, as you did yesterday?” The +maid had lifted her on to the old-fashioned +sofa at the foot of the bed. She was propped +up with pillows, and looked so well and +comfortable it seemed almost possible that +she might live.</p> + +<p>“I will,” Mrs. North answered, still overcome +with her own thoughts—“I will sit at +your feet, and receive your royal commands. +But first permit me to say that you are +looking irresistible—my lavender ribbons +give you a most ravishing appearance.”</p> + +<p>“You are in excellent spirits,” Aunt Anne +said, with a pleased smile; “and so am I,” +she added. “It has done me a world of good +to hear that William Rammage’s iniquitous +intentions have been frustrated.”</p> + +<p>“I trust he is aware of it,” Mrs. North +answered, “and that his soul is delightfully +vexed by the enterprising Satan.”</p> + +<p>“My love,” said the old lady, with a +shocked wink, “you hardly understand the +purport of your own words.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do,” Mrs. North said emphatically; +“but now I want to speak about something +much more important. I hope you are going +to get well—yes, in spite of all the shakes of +your dear old head; and that you are going +to live to be a hundred and one, in order to +scold me with very long words when I offend +you.”</p> + +<p>“I will endeavour to do so, my love; but +I hope that some one else will do it better”—she +stopped and closed her eyes.</p> + +<p>“I believe you are a witch, and you know +about my letter. It has just come, and has +made me so happy,” Mrs. North said, between +laughing and crying.</p> + +<p>“What does he say?” the old lady asked, +without opening her eyes.</p> + +<p>“He says he is coming,” Mrs. North +answered, almost in a whisper. “It’s almost +more than I can bear. I think it will all +come right. The other was never a marriage—it +was cruel to call it one; it was a girl’s +body and soul made ready for ruin by those +who persuaded her——” and she put her +face down.</p> + +<p>“My dear, I understand now; I think I +was very unsympathetic. But purity counts +before all things”—and Aunt Anne’s lips +quivered. “Tell me, my love, have you +heard—I know it is painful to you to hear +his name, but have you heard anything of +Mr. North lately?” Mrs. North looked up +with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, which +a moment before had been full of tears, and +answered demurely—</p> + +<p>“I am told that he is casting his eyes on an +amiable lady of forty-five. She is the sister +of an eminent Q.C., has read Buckle’s +‘History of Civilization,’ and her favourite +fad is the abolition of capital punishment. +But I don’t want to talk of my affairs, Aunt +Anne; I want to talk of yours—they are +more momentous.” Mrs. North prided herself +on picking up Aunt Anne’s words, and +using them with great discretion.</p> + +<p>“Yes, my love, I am most grateful to +you.”</p> + +<p>“I am certain—as I tell you—that you +are going to live and get well.” Mrs. North +meant her words at the moment, for, with +the sweet insolence of youth, she was incredulous +of death until it was absolutely +before her eyes. “But at the same time,” +she went on, “now that you are enormously +rich, you ought to take precautions in case +of an accident. If the cottage were burned +down to-night, and we were burned with it, +who would inherit your money?”</p> + +<p>“I told Mr. Boughton that I would give +my instructions to you, and he is coming the +day after to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“But have you destroyed the will you +made in favour of Alfred Wimple?”</p> + +<p>“I have not got it; he took it away with +him.” Mrs. North looked quite alarmed.</p> + +<p>“We must make another, this minute,” she +said; “if the conflagration took place this +evening he would get every penny. Let me +make it this minute. I can do it on a sheet +of note-paper. Don’t agitate your dear old +self, I shall be back directly”—and in a +moment she had fled downstairs and returned +with her blotting-book, and once more she +knelt down by a table to write. “You want +to leave everything to the Hibberts, don’t +you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; but if you would permit me, my +love, I should like to leave you something.”</p> + +<p>“Then I couldn’t make the will, for it +would not be legal; besides, I am rich +enough, you kind old lady. Shall I begin?”</p> + +<p>“Stop one moment, my dear; will you +give me a little <span class='it'>sal volatile</span> first, and let me +rest for five minutes?”</p> + +<p>She closed her eyes, but it was not to +sleep; she appeared to be thinking of something +that disturbed her. When she looked +up again she was almost panting with excitement +as well as weakness, and there was the +fierce, yet frightened, look in her eyes that +had been in them when she opened the front +door to turn Alfred Wimple out of the house.</p> + +<p>“I want you to do something for me,” she +said, almost in a whisper—“I want you to +have a sum of money, and to get it to him”—she +could not make herself utter his name—“on +condition that he goes out of the country +with it. Let him go to Australia with the +woman——”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Mrs. North said, seeing she hesitated.</p> + +<p>“She is not in his position, and could +never be received in society.”</p> + +<p>“No, dear,” Mrs. North said, reflecting +that Mr. Wimple’s own position was not +particularly exalted.</p> + +<p>“I want him to go out of the country,” +Aunt Anne went on—“as far away as possible; +I cannot breathe the same air with +him, or bear to think that he is beneath the +same sky. It is pollution; it is hurrying me +out of life; it is most repugnant to me to +think that when I am dead he will frequently +be within only a few miles of this cottage +and of my dear Walter and Florence”—she +stopped for a moment, and shuddered, and +put her thin hands, one over the other, under +her chin. “When I am dead and buried,” +she went on, “I believe I should know if his +body were put underground, too, in the same +country with me, and feel the desecration. +It has killed me; it has made me eager to +die. But I want to know that he will go +away—that none of those I care for will ever +see his face again; it will be a sacrilege if +he even passes them in the street. I want +him to have a sum of money, and to go +away.”</p> + +<p>“I will take care that he has it,” Mrs. +North said gently, “I will speak to the +Hibberts. But, Aunt Anne,” she asked, +“don’t you think you might forgive him? +He shall go away, but you would not like to +die without forgiving him?” Mrs. North +did not for a moment expect her to do it, +or even wish it, but she felt it almost +a duty to say what she did from a little +notion, as old-fashioned as one of Aunt +Anne’s perhaps, about dying in charity with +all men.</p> + +<p>“No, you must not ask me to do that”—and +her voice was determined. “I cannot; +it was too terrible.”</p> + +<p>“And I am very glad,” Mrs. North said, +having eased her conscience with the previous +remark—“a slightly revengeful spirit comforts +one so much.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t let us ever speak of him again, +even you and I. I want to shut him out of +the little bit of life I have left.”</p> + +<p>“We never will,” Mrs. North said. “Let +this be the Amen of him. Now I will make +the will. Here is a sheet of note-paper and +a singularly bad quill pen.”</p> + +<p>“This is the last Will and Testament of +me, Anne Baines (sometime called Wimple). +I revoke all other wills and codicils, and give +and bequeath everything that is mine or may +be mine to my dear nephew and niece, Walter +and Florence Hibbert.”</p> + +<p>The maid came and stood on one side and +Mrs. North on the other, while Aunt Anne +gave a little wink to herself, and pushed aside +the end of the lavender ribbon lest it should +smudge the paper, and signed “Anne Baines,” +looking at every letter as she made it with +intense interest.</p> + +<p>“I am glad to write that name once more,” +she said, and fell back, with a sigh.</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width:30%'> +<img src='images/tail10.jpg' alt='butterfly' id='iid-0019' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/chap4.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0020' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XI.</h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='lead-in'><img class='dropcap' src='images/capi.jpg' style='float:left;width:5%;' alt='I'/>t</span> was a long night that followed. A +telegram had arrived from the Hibberts. +They were on their way, and coming +as fast as possible, they said; but through +the dark hours, as Mrs. North sat beside +Aunt Anne, she feared that death would +come still faster.</p> + +<p>Her bronchitis was worse at times; she +could hardly breathe; it was only the almost +summer-like warmth that saved her. She +talked of strange people when she could find +voice to do so—people of whom Mrs. North +had never heard before; but it seemed somehow +as if they had silently entered—as if +they filled the house, and were waiting. At +midnight and in the still small hours of the +morning she could fancy that they were going +softly up and down the stairs; that they +peered into the room in which Aunt Anne +lay—the one to the front that looked down +on the long white road stretching from the +city to the sea. “Oh, if the Hibberts would +come,” Mrs. North said, a dozen times. +“I want her to die with her own people. I +love her, but I am a stranger.”</p> + +<p>So the night passed.</p> + +<p>“My dear,” Aunt Anne asked, opening +her eyes, “is it morning yet?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Mrs. North answered tenderly, +“and a lovely morning. The sun is shining, +and a thrush is singing on the tree outside. +We will open the window presently, and let +the summer in.” An hour passed, and the +postman came, but he brought no news of +those who were expected. Later on the +doctor looked in, and said her pulse was +weaker.</p> + +<p>“She must live a little longer,” Mrs. North +said, in despair; “she must, indeed.”</p> + +<p>“I will come again this afternoon,” he +said; “perhaps she may have a little rally.”</p> + +<p>While Aunt Anne dozed and the maid +watched, Mrs. North, unable to sit quietly +any longer, wandered up and down the house, +and round the little drawing-room, bending +her face over the pot-pourri on the corner +cupboard, opening the piano and looking at +the yellow keys she did not venture to touch. +And then, restlessly, she went into the garden, +and gathered some oak and beech boughs, +with the fresh young leaves upon them, and +put them in pots, as Aunt Anne had once +done for the home-coming of Florence.</p> + +<p>“I cannot feel that she is going to die,” +she thought, “but rather as if she were going +to meet the people she knew long ago; it +will be a festival for them.” She looked +down the road, and strained her ears, but +there was no sound of a carriage, no sign +of Walter and Florence. She could hardly +realize that she was watching for the +Hibberts and that Aunt Anne upstairs lay +dying. “It is all such a tangle,” she said +to herself, “life and death, and joy and +sorrow, and which is best it is difficult to +say.” Aunt Anne’s little breakfast was +ready, and she carried it up herself, and +lovingly watched the old lady trying to +swallow a spoonful.</p> + +<p>“You look a little better again, Aunt +Anne.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, love; and I shall be much better +when I have seen those dear children. I +am not quite happy about my will. I +wanted you to have some remembrance +of me.”</p> + +<p>“Give me something,” Mrs. North said, +“something you have worn; I shall like that +better than a legacy, because I shall have it +from your own two living hands.”</p> + +<p>“I have parted with all my possessions, +but Florence and Walter shall be commissioned +to get you something.”</p> + +<p>“The thing I should have liked,” Mrs. +North answered, “was a little brooch you +used to wear. It had hair in the middle, +and a crinkly gold setting around it.”</p> + +<p>“My dear,” said Aunt Anne, dreamily, +“it is in a little box in my left-hand drawer; +but it needs renovating—the pin is broken, +and the glass and the hair have come out. +It belonged to my mother.”</p> + +<p>“Give it to me,” Mrs. North said eagerly. +“I will have it done up, and wear it till you +are better, and then you shall have it back; +let me get it at once”—and in her eager +manner she went to the drawer. “Here it +is,” she said. “It will make a little gold +buckle. I have a canary-coloured ribbon in +the next room; I will put it through, and +wear it round my neck. Aunt Anne, you +have made me a present.”</p> + +<p>“I am delighted that it meets with +your approval, my dear”—and there was +a long silence. The morning dragged on—a +happy spring morning, on which, as +Mrs. North said to herself, you could almost +hear the summer walking to you over the +little flowers. Presently Aunt Anne called +her.</p> + +<p>“I was thinking,” she said, “of a canary-coloured +dress I had when I was a girl. I +wore it at my first ball—it was a military +ball, my dear, and the officers were all in +uniform. As soon as I entered the room, +Captain Maxwell asked me to dance; but I +felt quite afraid, and said, ‘You must take +off your sword, if you please, and put it on +one side.’ Think of my audacity in asking +him to do such a thing; but he did it. Your +ribbon made me remember it”—and again +she dropped off to sleep.</p> + +<p>Mrs. North went to the window, and looked +out once more. “I feel like sister Anne on +the watch-tower,” she said to herself. “If +they would only come.” Suddenly a dread +overcame her. Florence and Walter knew +nothing of Alfred Wimple’s conduct. They +might arrive, and, before she had time to tell +them, by some chance word cause Aunt Anne +infinite pain. The shame and humiliation +seemed to have gone out of the old lady’s +life during the last day or two. It would be +a cruel thing to remind her of it. She had +made herself ready to meet death. It was +coming to her gently and surely, with thoughts +of those she loved, and a remembrance of +the days that had been before the maddening +shame of the past year. Mrs. North +went downstairs. Jane Mitchell was in the +kitchen.</p> + +<p>“Is there any way of sending a note to +the station?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Why, yes, ma’am; Lucas would take it +with the pony-cart.”</p> + +<p>“Go to him, ask him to get ready at once, +and come to me for the letter.” As shortly +as possible she wrote an account of all that +had taken place at the cottage, and explained +her own presence there.</p> + +<p>“Take this at once to the station-master, +and ask him to give it to Mr. and Mrs. +Hibbert the moment they arrive, and to see +that they come here by the fastest fly that is +there.” And once more she went up to the +front bedroom. Aunt Anne was sleeping +peacefully; a little smile was on her lips. +Mrs. North went to the window, and looked +up and down the long straight road, and over +at the fir-trees. Presently Lucas came by +with the pony-cart; he touched his hat, pulled +the note out of his pocket to show that he had +it safely, and drove on in the sunshine. The +birds were twittering everywhere. A clump +of broom was nearly topped with yellow; +some spots of gold were on the gorse. Half +an hour. Aunt Anne still slept. Mrs. North +put her arms on the window-sill, and rested +her head down on them with her face turned +to the road that led to the station. “If only +the Hibberts would come,” she said. “Oh, +if they would come.”</p> + +<p>The long morning went into afternoon. +A change came over Aunt Anne. It was +plain enough this time. She spoke once, +very gently and so indistinctly that Mrs. +North could hardly make out the words, +though she bent over her, trying to understand.</p> + +<p>“Aunt Anne, dear, do you know me?” +A smile came over the old lady’s face. She +was thinking of something that pleased her.</p> + +<p>“Yes, dear Walter,” she said, “you must +get some chocolates for those dear children, +and I will reimburse you.” Then the little +woman, who had watched so bravely, broke +down, and, kneeling by the bedside, sobbed +softly to herself.</p> + +<p>“Oh, they must come; oh, they must +come,” she whispered. “Perhaps I had +better rouse her a little,” she thought after a +little while, and slipped her arm under the +old lady’s shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Aunt Anne—Aunt Anne, dear,” she said, +“Walter and Florence are coming; they are +hurrying to you, do you hear me?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my love,” the old lady said, recovering +a little, and recognizing her. “You said +it was morning time, and a thrush was singing +on the tree outside. I think I hear it.”</p> + +<p>“You do; listen, dear, listen!” and Mrs. +North turned her face towards the window, +as though she were listening, and looked at +Aunt Anne’s face, as if to put life into her. +And as she did so there came upon her ears +a joyful sound, the one she most longed to +hear in the world—the sound of carriage +wheels.</p> + +<p>“They have come,” she said; “thank +God! they have come.”</p> + +<p>Aunt Anne seemed to understand; an expression +of restfulness came over her face; +she closed her eyes, as if satisfied. Mrs. +North was in despair; it seemed as if they +would be a moment too late.</p> + +<p>“Dearest old lady, they have come! they +are in the garden! Wake up—wake up, to +see them. Stay, let me prop you up a little +bit more.” She could scarcely say the words, +her heart was so full. “There, now you can +see the fir-trees and the sunshine. Kiss me +once, dear Aunt Anne; I am going to fetch +your children”—and she gently drew her +arms away. The Hibberts were in the +house—they were on the stairs already. +Mrs. North met them. “You are just in +time,” she whispered to Florence—“she has +waited.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hibbert could not speak, but she +stopped one moment to put her arms round +Mrs. North’s neck, and then went on.</p> + +<p>“Come with us,” Walter said.</p> + +<p>“No,” Mrs. North answered chokingly, +while the tears ran down her face. “She is +waiting for you. Go in to her. I have no +business there.”</p> + +<p>Without a word they went to Aunt Anne. +Like a flash there came over Florence +the remembrance of the day when she had +first entered the room, and had thought that +it looked like a room to die in. The old +lady did not make a sign. For a moment +they stood by her silently. Florence stooped, +and kissed the coverlet.</p> + +<p>“Dear Aunt Anne,” they said tenderly, +“we have come.” Then a look of joy spread +over the old lady’s face. She made one last +struggle to speak.</p> + +<p>“My dear Walter and Florence,” she said, +and stopped for a moment. “I have not +been able—to make any preparation for your +arrival—but Mrs. North——” She stopped +again, and her eyes closed. They went +a little nearer to each other, and stood +watching.</p> + +<p>The scent of the fresh spring air filled +the room. The sunshine was passing over +the house. But all was still—so still that +Florence looked up, with a questioning look +of fear upon her face. Walter bent over +the bed for a moment, then gently put his +arm round his wife’s shoulder. Aunt Anne +had journeyed on.</p> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:2em;font-size:1.5em;'>THE END</p> + +<div class='lgc' style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:2em;'> <!-- rend=';fs:.8em;' --> +<p class='line' style='font-size:.8em;'>PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,</p> +<p class='line' style='font-size:.8em;'>LONDON AND BECCLES.</p> +</div> <!-- end rend --> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:4em;margin-bottom:2em;font-size:1.2em;'>TRANSCRIBER NOTES</p> + +<div class='blockquote'> + +<p class='noindent'>Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. +Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been +employed.</p> + +<p class='line'> </p> + +<p class='noindent'>Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious +printer errors occur.</p> + +<p class='line'> </p> + +<p class='noindent'>New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.</p> + +<p class='line'> </p> + +<p class='noindent'>[The end of <span class='it'>Aunt Anne, Vol. 2</span>, by Mrs. W. K. Clifford.]</p> + +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75404 ***</div> + </body> + <!-- created with fpgen.py 4.65 on 2025-02-18 19:17:16 GMT --> +</html> + diff --git a/75404-h/images/capa.jpg b/75404-h/images/capa.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3a403bb --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/capa.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/capb.jpg b/75404-h/images/capb.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f292604 --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/capb.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/capd.jpg b/75404-h/images/capd.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..76787f5 --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/capd.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/capf2.jpg b/75404-h/images/capf2.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..304ba82 --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/capf2.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/capi.jpg b/75404-h/images/capi.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..10559c6 --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/capi.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/capi2.jpg b/75404-h/images/capi2.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..170a0ce --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/capi2.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/capp.jpg b/75404-h/images/capp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4f46937 --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/capp.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/caps.jpg b/75404-h/images/caps.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0d0c0dd --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/caps.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/capt.jpg b/75404-h/images/capt.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0a7696f --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/capt.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/chap01.jpg b/75404-h/images/chap01.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f86c13c --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/chap01.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/chap1.jpg b/75404-h/images/chap1.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b0c9109 --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/chap1.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/chap11.jpg b/75404-h/images/chap11.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..900d9bb --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/chap11.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/chap2.jpg b/75404-h/images/chap2.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7ab136c --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/chap2.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/chap3.jpg b/75404-h/images/chap3.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..689ad06 --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/chap3.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/chap4.jpg b/75404-h/images/chap4.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cafef99 --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/chap4.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/chap7.jpg b/75404-h/images/chap7.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..747eb50 --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/chap7.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/chap8.jpg b/75404-h/images/chap8.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f69fd54 --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/chap8.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/cover.jpg b/75404-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..12d57dd --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/tail1.jpg b/75404-h/images/tail1.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..89b55b6 --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/tail1.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/tail10.jpg b/75404-h/images/tail10.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..69a028f --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/tail10.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/tail2.jpg b/75404-h/images/tail2.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..755c0d5 --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/tail2.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/tail3.jpg b/75404-h/images/tail3.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7739338 --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/tail3.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/tail5.jpg b/75404-h/images/tail5.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7c14189 --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/tail5.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/tail6.jpg b/75404-h/images/tail6.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..529c486 --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/tail6.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/tail7.jpg b/75404-h/images/tail7.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7b77f40 --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/tail7.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/tail8.jpg b/75404-h/images/tail8.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..70deeaa --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/tail8.jpg diff --git a/75404-h/images/tail9.jpg b/75404-h/images/tail9.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..93f0e50 --- /dev/null +++ b/75404-h/images/tail9.jpg |
