CHAPTER VII
VENETIA DISAPPEARS
"NOW, Dugald, you must go away. My time is not my own. It is Mrs. Calthrop's this morning till half-past twelve, when I go to dinner."
"It's past my comprehension," said Dugald, eyeing the rows of books in front of him critically, "how a catalogue can take so long in the making. I bet you I would do it in a fortnight!"
"Where ignorance is bliss!" said Orris, laughing.
"But look here, I came down to see you; I've been here two days and have hardly got a squint of you. When is your time your own? Answer truthfully."
"If you promise to leave me in peace, and I can get these three hours clear of interruptions, I will meet you somewhere this afternoon, and we'll have a walk, if you like. Be at Lilac Farm at three o'clock. Venetia will be very pleased to see you to tea if you care to return with me. That is, providing Lady Violet has not other plans for you. I would remind you that you are her guest."
"Thank you," Dugald said sarcastically. Then he altered his tone. "Isn't it queer the Archers coming here and turning you out? I never heard of such a topsy-turvy arrangement. And I hear the rightful but defrauded heir is in the neighbourhood, and that you and he are great pals. Have I cause for jealousy?"
"Go away! I shan't talk to you any more. The friends I make cannot possibly concern you." Orris turned her back upon him and plunged into her work.
It was little more than half-past nine, but from his bedroom window Dugald had caught sight of her crossing the fields, and had hastened down to have a chat with her. He looked at her very ruefully now.
"You've no occasion to slave away like this," he said, "to give that lazy parasite money to fly round with. Well, I suppose I must make my exit. I shall be at the Farm at three, sharp." He left the room.
Orris was not disturbed again. Reyne respected her wishes, and rarely came near her. Lady Violet ignored her, and her cousin Dugald's sister, Marie, hardly realized that she was in the house.
When Orris arrived at the Farm for dinner, Pippa met her breathlessly.
"Mummy has gone away in a car with Mr. Riley. And haymaking is beginning to-morrow, and I'm going to be in the hayfields all day long, and Master Jock will make me little cubbyholes in it. Won't it be glorious!"
"And what are your plans for this afternoon, I wonder?" asked Orris. "Is your mother out for the day?"
"Yes. She said I was to be good. I wiss I'd gone with her, but she wouldn't take me. She said she mightn't be home till I was in bed!"
"Where is Anita?"
Pippa advanced to her aunt on tiptoe, her finger to her lips.
"Locked in the barn. She—she bored me!"
The last words were in such exact imitation of her mother's tones that Orris smiled in spite of herself.
"But that is very naughty, Pippa. You wouldn't like to be locked in the barn."
"Oh, yes, I would, 'cause I can squeeze down through the holes into the mangers."
Orris went to release the tearful and very indignant Anita, and told her to take her work after dinner into the orchard, and keep Pippa in sight.
"I am going out for a walk, but I shall be back before tea. As her mother is out, you will be responsible for her."
"She is too wild, the child," murmured Anita. "I try, I make play with her, but she flies like lightning in all parts of the farm at once. She plays with peegs, she makes herself—her frocks like them. I wash—and wash—but she is always not fit to look at for a little lady!"
"Never mind! This is the country."
"I do agree with my mistress: I like town."
Anita the adaptable was distinctly ruffled. Orris smoothed her down. She wondered if she had better leave her little niece, for it was evidently one of her naughty days.
At dinner Jock asked her if she was worried.
"Do I look so?" she asked.
"You have a certain pucker on your brow which always comes there when your mind is working at something unpleasant."
Orris laughed, and her brow cleared.
"I am going for a walk with my Cousin Dugald," she said; "and I am wondering whether Pippa will be all right if I leave her at home."
Pippa was chattering away to the farmer at the other end of the table or Orris would not have discussed her. Jock looked at her with his whimsical smile.
"Is it a case of pleasure versus duty? Let the cousin go, and bring Pippa out into the five-acre meadow. We're starting the haymaking."
"To-day?
"Well, the machine isn't working quite right—we're giving it a trial."
"Anita might take her down, if you could have an eye on her."
"All right—I'm game. Because I think you ought to have a change from us country folk sometimes."
Mrs. Preston overheard this conversation.
"No, Mr. Muir, don't hint that Miss Coventry doesn't like us. She might have been born and brought up in the country, she's so understanding and simple."
"Now you've said it!" laughed Jock. "Miss Coventry, simple!"
"I beg your pardon, I'm sure," said poor Mrs. Preston, covered with confusion.
"My dear Mrs. Preston," said Orris, "simplicity is a virtue which all of us ought to possess. I wish I had more of it."
"Would your little niece like to bide in the kitchen with me? We're making some raspberry jam this afternoon."
Directly Pippa heard this she was enchanted at the idea of it, and Orris departed for her walk with a light heart.
She took Dugald through the pinewoods. They had many mutual friends, and she enjoyed hearing of town life, and all that was going on.
"It seems years since I was in the bustle of it all," she said. "I suppose you think my life stagnation at present?"
"I'm afraid I couldn't stick it. Why doesn't Venetia get married again, and relieve you of herself and child, then we would have you in town?"
"I don't know that you would," said Orris slowly.
It was an exquisite afternoon; they were leaning over a fence at the edge of the woods and looking down along the rich pastoral valley below them. There was a peculiar freshness in the air; every tree and shrub seemed vibrant with luxurious life, and the pines behind them were sending out their aromatic fragrance.
Orris turned to pick a branch of wild roses as she spoke; and as she inhaled their delicate fragrance, she said again:
"I don't know that you would. The country is getting a hold of me. The naturalness and simplicity of it all appeals to me. I am enjoying first-hand the good gifts of God. I feel now as if I could not take town life up again. If I could find a thatched cottage vacant, which is, of course, an impossibility in these days, I believe I would venture to take it. Look at that view in front of you! Isn't it exquisite?"
"Oh, you can get many as good, outside town," said Dugald indifferently. Then, turning to her eagerly, he said: "You mustn't vegetate here too long. You have gifts which are squandered here. And we—I—want you back again. I haven't a soul who cares whether I live or die. I mean it. And I miss your motherly—sisterly—oh, how I wish I could say 'wifely'—lectures for my good. Hurry up over that library and come back."
"I have a good three months' work at it, yet," said Orris. "You don't any of you want me. You map out your days and nights in one long array of gaieties; you say the same things every day, you repeat scandal, you tell each other 'bon mots,' you criticize each other, and you contribute nothing towards the welfare of the unfortunate. And at the end of your life, what have you got to show for it?"
Dugald looked at her with mischievous eyes. "Go on. I've heard all this before."
"Yes; it's futile talking to you. And I'm just as bad myself. Reyne Archer has been stirring me up by her fresh enthusiasm, and longing after a busy, useful life. I have done very little in town, but here, I fancy, if I were to settle down and get to know the country folk round, I could do something to help them on a bit. So little amuses them, so little pleases them. I'm not speaking of the young, but of the old and feeble. I've just seen a few of them, but they fascinate me. I have never come in contact with country people before. They're so leisurely and shrewd, and think more than the Cockneys do. They have more time, of course."
"How you drift away from the point," Dugald said. "Promise me you will return to town in September. You will have had your three months by then."
"Indeed, I shall promise nothing of the sort. Now shall we go back?"
Dugald felt, when the walk was over that he had gained nothing by it. He had hoped that absence from town might make her more eager to return. He had also hoped that she would have missed him, and learnt to wish for him.
When they reached the farm, they found a bountiful tea awaiting them. Mrs. Preston had suggested to Anita to carry it out under the apple trees in the orchard.
Dugald did not stay long. Perhaps Pippa's chatter of her wonderful "Master Jock" did not smooth matters. If Jock did not like the sound of him, Dugald most certainly disliked his presence at the farm.
When he was gone, and Pippa had been taken to bed, Orris sat on in the silent orchard. The future looked uncertain to her, and sometimes she had an intense craving for a home of her own. Her flat was not a home, she told herself. She wanted a garden, a sweet restful place where, as now, she could sit and meditate with no fear of interruption.
She was a little anxious over Venetia. Every day found her more discontented and more restive. These new friends of hers did not seem to make her happier, only made her long the more to return to town. And Orris did not care for this new admirer of hers. Mr. Riley seemed to her a parvenu, and neither well-bred nor intellectual. Venetia was never happy unless she had some man attendant on her, but Orris feared she was more than interested in this one.
She did not return till half-past ten, and was cross with Orris for waiting up for her.
"I thought you might be glad of a cup of soup. Have you been out in the car all day?"
"We've been up to town," Venetia said shortly, "and we dined at Salisbury on the way back."
Orris saw she did not wish to be questioned, so said no more and went off to bed.
The next day she and Venetia dined with the Archers. The Rector and his wife were there, but no one else. It was not exactly a happy gathering. Venetia and Dugald heartily disliked each other. Mrs. Villars had taken it into her head not to approve of Orris. Marie, a lively young matron of two-and-thirty, put her foot into it all round. She told Mrs. Villars that the country was deadly, and that parsons and their wives were the deadliest. This was in innocence of Mrs. Villars' calling. She told Lady Archer that they thought it a burning shame for Mrs. Calthrop to let her house and turn Orris out, after making arrangements with her definitely to stay there. And she asked Venetia why she did not try another millinery venture in town. It was so fashionable, and she would promise to patronize her if she did so!
Reyne and Orris did not get a chance of any talk together until just as she was leaving, and then Reyne said:
"I want to tell you that I have mother's consent to my taking over some of Miss Villars' work when she leaves. I am so happy about it. It seems as if it has just been given to me. And I do agree with you that I ought not to leave mother at present. If only she stays in the country, it will be delightful! I am going to enjoy it all now, and shall leave the future to take care of itself."
Dugald walked home with Orris and Venetia. The latter said, when she came into the farm:
"Preserve me from going out again to any of these deadly country dinners! Orris, I'm getting to the end of my tether. I shall have to break away from you."
"But what do you think of doing?" said Orris, a little wearily. This kind of conversation was getting frequent and monotonous.
"I think I should commit suicide if I stayed here much longer."
"Don't be foolish!" Orris's tone was sharp. "You have more backbone than that, Venetia, so don't pretend that you haven't. We can't get everything we want in life; and you have here at least food and lodging."
"I thought you would add 'comfort,' for that I have not got. And talk of life! This isn't life, it's stagnation. I am not a tortoise. I can't sleep away my time as you want me to do. I shall go to one of those cheap boardinghouses in Bayswater or Kensington. I don't mind leaving you Pippa for a time. She ought to be going to school soon. How is it to be managed?"
"I shall be able to do it," said Orris. Then she added, with a little laugh: "That is, if I don't get too many bills of yours to pay."
Venetia shrugged her shoulders.
"If you will take your brother's liabilities upon your shoulders, it isn't for me to complain. Good-night. I'm off to bed. I've warned you that I shall make my exit soon." Then, as she was turning away, she looked back. "You and I are not fitted to live together, Orris. You are too superior in your aloofness from all fun and frivolity. You good people are on such a different plane to us mere ordinary beings that you make us uncomfortable in your presence."
"I have tried not to be a prig," murmured Orris.
"You can't hide your contempt for me."
Orris was dumb. She realized that she had been impatient, intolerant of her sister-in-law's vagaries, and she wondered if she could have influenced her more, had she shown her more sympathy. She looked at Venetia somewhat wistfully.
"I wish you would teach me how to understand you," she said.
Venetia laughed and blew her an airy kiss.
"Good-night again. You've been a useful old thing to me, and you're a pattern aunt to Pippa. You ought to be a mother. I'm not suited to the role. Marry this young penniless farmer who's so desperately in love with you. He isn't a bad sort—not spicy enough for me, but good enough in his way." She disappeared.
Two days after, she made good her words. She had gone off again with Mr. Riley in his car, presumably to some races that were taking place about ten miles away.
This time Orris waited up till between eleven and twelve. She had felt uneasy all the evening. Pippa had been curiously mysterious, and wagged her head to and fro every time her mother's name was mentioned.
When she was put to bed, Orris went in and tucked her up after hearing her say her evening prayer.
When Pippa got to, "God bless mummy," she gave a little giggle.
Orris promptly reproved her, whereupon she looked up with big eyes.
"God knows why I'm laughing. He will ascuse me."
"Have you got anything on your mind, my pet?" Orris asked, as she gave her a "good-night" kiss.
"No," said Pippa virtuously; "I've been a 'markably good girl to-day."
Orris paced outside the house in the sweet dusky evening till it was too dark to see, then she came to the conclusion that Venetia might be sleeping at the Potters', so she went to bed when it was nearly twelve o'clock.
The next morning Anita brought her a note which she had found on her mistress's dressing-table. It ran as follows:
"DEAR ORRIS,—
"I haven't been long in doing it, have I? But Jack Riley has
precipitated matters. We are being married to-morrow at the Registrar's
in town. I go up to-night and sleep at the Metropole. He joins me
to-morrow. I didn't think he was in earnest till yesterday. He has
a ranch in California and we're going out there, but I must have a
maid to go with me, so will you send Anita along with my trunks? I've
packed one. She must pack the other and bring them up to town—to the
Metropole. She loves travelling, so will like to come with me. I
leave you Pippa. I shall miss her, but Jack doesn't want a ready-made
daughter at present; and we shall be travelling about, which would be
bad for her. You won't have me as a burden on your shoulders, so you
will be able to do better for her. She must be educated soon. I should
pack her off to a boarding-school if I were you, and go back to your
club again. Good-bye.
"You did your best for us, but a country farm is the limit for—
"Your good-for-nothing Sis,
"VENETIA."
Orris read this through with dazed eyes. She hardly knew whether she was glad or sorry. Her immediate anxiety was Pippa with no maid to look after her. She realized her capacity for mischief, and the impossibility of doing her work and looking after the child.
She called Anita to her. It was quite true what Venetia had said. She had a passion for travelling, and was willing to go anywhere with her mistress.
"Miss Pippa, she is too great a charge; she likes not me when I am reproving her; and she is too wild to be held still and good. I do better with full-grown ladies who do not pour ink into my shoes and comb the peegs with my best comb!"
"I'm afraid Miss Pippa has been very naughty."
"She is born so," said Anita philosophically.
She departed with alacrity to pack her mistress's trunks, and Orris went down to breakfast with perplexed eyes.
Pippa was chattering in the porch to Jock who was filling his pipe preparatory to going into the hayfields.
"Oh, Aunt Ollie, be quick with our brekfus', I'm going to be all day in the hayfield, and I shall make it into little cocks to-day. Jock says I can."
"Do you know your mummy has gone away?"
Pippa looked at her aunt and smiled.
"Aha! You didn't know I'd a secret! Mummy told me not to tell, and so last night I didn't, though it nearly bursted from me ever so many times. Mummy came to me in the orchard when the car was waiting for her, and she kissed me and whispered in my ear that she was going away. Mummy often goes away quite sudden, doesn't she? She told me not to tell you till this morning, and I really quite forgot, I was so busy thinking about the hay."
"Have children any hearts?" queried Jock, in an undertone. "Is it anything serious, Bright Eyes?"
"Run in, Pippa; there's some bread and milk for you this morning. I'm just coming."
The child danced into the house. In a few words, Orris told Jock of what had happened. He gave a low long whistle.
"You don't want me to congratulate you," he said.
"No; it has almost knocked me down—the suddenness of it. But I wonder that it has not happened before. He has money, so I consider she ought to be content."
"And send you something for the child, I should hope?"
Orris shook her head.
"Never. He evidently has stipulated that the child is to be shunted on me. I would not have it otherwise. She would be ruined if she accompanied them. I don't consider him a nice man—he is very fast and go ahead. Of course, Venetia is old enough to know her own mind."
"Well, I'm inclined to feel cheery about it. The Elf has stolen her way into Mrs. Preston's heart, so you needn't worry."
"But she is too busy to look after her."
"She will be my charge for to-day."
"I must get some kind of nursemaid for her," said Orris. Then she smiled at him. "I am beginning to tell you all my difficulties. I wonder why!"
"Because you know that everything that interests you interests me," responded Jock quickly. "I expect you to confide in me."
"Go along to your work," said Orris, laughing. And then she joined her little niece at breakfast.
Mrs. Preston, on being told the news, showed immense relief.
"I have done my best for Mrs. Coventry, but she's like a fish out of water here, miss. She was always grumbling and bewailing our simple ways. We'll manage fine. I believe Mrs. Will's Lily is at home out of place. She's a nice girl and has known good service—been nurse-girl up at Tarbets Hall. Shall I make inquiries about her?"
"Do, please, dear Mrs. Preston, for Anita must leave at once—this afternoon, if possible. My sister-in-law will want her luggage."
There were a good many arrangements to be made before Orris was free to leave for her work. In fact, she did not go to Pinestones till after dinner. Anita had left by the two o'clock train, and Mrs. Preston said Pippa could have tea with her in the kitchen, if she did not have it in the hayfield. So Orris left the farm with an easy conscience.
As she was crossing the fields, she met Mr. Dunscombe.
"You are quite a stranger," he said. "How are you getting on with your work?"
"I am seeing my way through the foreign section, but I haven't tackled the Old English yet."
She plunged into her subject. Mr. Dunscombe had been of the greatest help to her in many ways.
"Don't hurry too much," was his advice, on parting. "We don't want you to leave us, you know."
"I am not nearly at that point," Orris said. "Sometimes I think I shall never want to leave this smiling country. My town tastes are retiring to the background."
"We'll do our best to keep you," he said pleasantly.
And then he went his way, and Orris went hers, more than glad to feel that her work should occupy her thoughts for the present.
CHAPTER VIII
DISASTER
IT was Sunday afternoon. Orris sat under one of the old apple trees in the orchard in a lounge wicker chair. Pippa was sprawling on a plaid rug at her feet. She disdained chairs, and having on a fresh white muslin frock, was not allowed to roll the grass at will during her Sunday lesson time.
She lay on her chest now, chewing stalks of grass, and beating a tattoo with her impatient little feet, but she had been listening intently to one of the old Gospel stories which her aunt had been telling her. Orris was taking the different incidents in the life of our Lord, and had been telling the story of Zacchæus this afternoon.
Unseen by teacher or hearer Jock Muir had stolen up after them, and lounging behind a thick old apple trunk, had let his eyes dwell contentedly on the face which, to him, was the dearest and sweetest in the world. Then Pippa spoke.
"I wiss, Aunt Ollie, I wiss Jesus was going about in these villages to-day. Let's pretend He is. Only think how lovely it would be! He would be walking towards our house here, perhaps, and He'd have come through the village, and all the persons would have jumped out of their houses and run after Him; and old Mrs. Bone would hobble up to Him on her c'utches, and He'd give her new legs at once, and she would go skipping and dancing along; and little Johnnie White would be taken out of his bed, and made quite well; and old Tom Burden would have his ears touched, and never be deaf again. And then they'd all come along the road, and crowd and crowd round Him, and then I'd climb up into that old oak by the gate, and look at Him through the leaves, and He'd look up at me, and everybody would look too, and He'd say:
"'Make haste, Pippa, and come down, for I'm going to spend the day at your house!'
"Oh, how dreffully exciting it would be! And then I'd climb down and He'd perhaps take my hand and we'd come into the door and you would be waiting for us, and Mrs. Preston would be getting dinner ready as fast as she could, and the crowds would all have to wait outside. We'd shut the door tight and have Jesus all to ourselves!"
Orris never checked Pippa's flights of fancy. The child was looking up at her with shining eyes, her whole soul in her words.
"Well, Pippa, darling," said Orris, in a soft reverent voice, "suppose we did have our Lord to ourselves, what would you say to Him, would you ask Him for anything?"
Pippa shut her eyes tight and considered. Then, with screwed up eyelids she said at last with infinite satisfaction and content:
"I'd just creep up softly and sit upon His knees, and love Him."
There was a little silence; a blackbird suddenly lifted up his voice behind them, and burst into an ecstatic song of joy.
Orris murmured to herself, not loud enough for Pippa to hear:
"Of such is the kingdom of Heaven."
And then Jock showed himself.
Pippa jumped up and flung herself into his arms.
"We've done our lesson. Are you come to tea?"
"May I?" He looked at Orris, and she nodded with a smile.
"Pippa, darling, would you go in and help Mrs. Preston get the tea? I know you like to be useful."
Away danced Pippa.
"And Master Jock shall have some cream on his bread instead of butter. He likes that," she called out, as she ran into the house.
Jock lay down on the rug which Pippa had vacated.
"I've been listening for some minutes to you both."
Orris looked at him earnestly.
"Oh, don't you wish we were like little children? Don't you sometimes envy them their perfect faith and trust and love? It seems to shame one, when one doubts and hesitates and forgets."
Jock was silent. Then he said:
"I can't remember the exact somewhat hackneyed quotation. Doesn't it run like this:
"''Tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from Heaven than when I was
a boy'?"
"Did you have Pippa's faith when you were small?" Orris asked quietly.
"Didn't I tell you? I had a most religious tutor before I went to Harrow. He began teaching me when I was six. He went out as a missionary to India afterwards. He coloured my whole small life with his religion. I heard of his death about five years ago. He always wrote to me every Christmas—never failed."
"You haven't lost your faith?" asked Orris.
He looked at her meditatively.
"One can neglect, or nurture it. I've done a good deal in the neglecting way. Neglect a field, you know, and it soon turns out a crop of unwholesome weeds—gets rank and barren, doesn't it?"
"But a good farmer is always trying to reclaim his waste land."
"I'm a bad hat!" said Jock, trying to speak lightly, but failing.
Orris leant forward and laid her hand gently on his shoulder.
"Come back to your Owner," she said. "He'll clear and redeem your barren field. Hand yourself over to Him again. He had you as a little boy, He wants you now."
Jock thrilled at her touch, and also at her words.
"Is it all a myth?" he queried.
And then Orris said very softly:
"'I know Whom I have believed, and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him against that day.'"
Then there was silence again between them.
Jock broke it at last by saying in a lighter tone: "You didn't see me in church to-day?"
"No."
"I was there—came in late, and had to go out before the final hymn. The sick cow was taken worse. I believe my calling is a vet. I'm better at handling sick animals than Preston is, so he tells me. How do you like our new parson?"
"Very much. Better than Mr. Villars. He is alive, and believes in his message."
Pippa here joined them again, summoning them to tea.
Orris had said what she wanted to Jock; it was not her way to worry, or to weary anyone by over-much talking. But she had always felt that something real lay under Jock's happy-go-lucky nature.
As he and Pippa teased and joked and played together that quiet Sunday evening, she wondered if he had cast aside his memories again. But when he took his leave of her a little later on, he said:
"Thank you for my Sunday lesson. I shan't forget it." Then he raised her hand suddenly to his lips, kissed it, and departed before she could say a word.
Orris found herself thinking about him a great deal. One of the traits in his character that she admired, was the good-tempered philosophical way in which he took the loss of his inheritance; there seemed to be no bitterness or vindictiveness in his composition towards those who had evidently defrauded him of his rights. It was not that he did not feel it, she felt sure. She had seen the sudden flash of his eyes, and the tightening of his lips, when his will or wishes were crossed, but she never heard him lift his voice in anger to anyone. He seemed to have absolute control over his feelings, and no one could make him lose his temper. All children, all animals, adored him; the farm hands would do anything for him, and he got more work out of them than did anyone else.
One day he and she were having a discussion together over the world in general. Orris had been talking about her sister-in-law, and said she was one of the products of the war.
"I ought to make more allowances for her. She tells me I am not sympathetic, and think and show my superiority in every way, but the fact is, I'm almost a generation behind her. I don't smoke, I don't shingle, or use a lip-stick, or care for jazz dances and night clubs. I'm hopelessly old-fashioned, and, of course, she thinks me a prig, but our tastes are utterly different. And what I say is that this present generation are too much like a flock of sheep. They follow each other, and some of them have not the courage to own to a different standard and individuality to the rest. The worst thing in the world for a young girl is to be found out-of-date or behind the times. It's all wrong. We each have a different personality, and ought to know our own minds and stick to them, without being biased by others. I suppose all ideals and standards have been lost.
"'Live like the rest, and let everything else go hang!' That's the motto of the young girl of to-day. I am thinking of Pippa in the years to come. I may not have her with me many years. How can I expect her to be stronger than the rest of her contemporaries?"
Jock was silent for a few minutes, then he turned to her with his delightfully sunny smile.
"You know, I understand your sister-in-law's point of view. And you are so strong, so genuinely superior to most of us that it does give one a kind of hopeless feeling about getting hold of you and your affections. I sometimes wickedly feel that I should like to see you brought down a little lower—not in your ideals and morals—Heaven forbid that!—but in your—shall I say circumstances? I should like to see you low enough to be glad and thankful of my comfort and guidance. I should like to have the raising of you."
"Oh, dear!" cried Orris. "You will always become so personal. But I am sorry I seem to show my superiority. I don't feel superior in any way—except, honestly—yes, in my heart I do feel superior to Venetia, and that is the reason why I have never been able to influence her or get her to like me. I'm all wrong. I wish I had more patience, more tolerance, more love for those who have such a different outlook to myself."
Jock nodded.
"More love," he murmured. "It will come if you cultivate it, and I can wait."
He generally ended all serious conversation by some such remark. But Orris thought of what he had said, and prayed daily for more humility and diffidence of self.
One day, after the haymaking was over, and when the weather was rather wet and stormy, Orris took Pippa down to Pinestones with her. The young girl who was looking after her was not very satisfactory, and did not seem to be able to manage her. Pippa had been rescued, soaking wet to the skin, from a shallow pond, where she had been trying to wash some young pigs, and had refused to have her frock changed, saying that, as she was wet, she could have a good paddle. Later, she developed a bad cold, and had to be kept in bed for two days. Now she was well again, but Orris thought that she would rather have her under her own eye in the library; and Pippa, of course, was delighted at the prospect before her.
She accompanied her aunt well wrapped up in her little mackintosh cape and hood, carrying her Teddy bear, a doll, and a box of zigzag puzzles.
"I shall be frifefully busy, Aunt Ollie," she said, "and I promise not to say one word to you, only to myself and to Teddy and to Rosemary."
Orris established her in a corner of the library, and for an hour or two this plan was very satisfactory. Orris was absorbed in her work, and Pippa in her play.
Then came an interruption. Reyne came to ask if Miss Dashwood might speak to Orris for a moment. It was about an entertainment which she was getting up for the benefit of the village girls' club, and in which Orris had promised to perform.
"Could you come and speak to her? I hate interrupting you, and it is against rules, I know, but she came up here, hoping to catch you."
Orris consented immediately, telling Pippa to stay where she was till she returned. Miss Dashwood kept her longer than she thought, and she found it was getting near lunch time when the interview was over.
Coming hurriedly into the library, she called Pippa, put on her cloak and hat, and equipping herself also, hurried home across the fields. The rain had stopped, but there was a high wind, and Pippa much enjoyed losing her hat, and having a chase over a muddy ditch after it.
Only Mrs. Preston dined with them. It was market day, and both Jock and the farmer were away in the neighbouring town.
After dinner, Orris found that some of Pippa's clothes required mending, so she and Pippa spent a quiet hour or two up in the bedroom. Then Orris thought she might make up for her interrupted morning by putting in another hour or so of work, so she asked Mrs. Preston to have Pippa with her, and give her her tea, as she might be late. Mrs. Preston was always glad to have the child with her in the afternoon, but the morning was too busy a time to look after her.
Orris started away across the field path as usual, but as she came within sight of Pinestones she saw, to her horror, a huge column of smoke rising from behind the trees.
She quickened her steps, thinking at first it must be a chimney on fire, but she soon found it was more than that, and when she saw that both smoke and flames were pouring out of the windows of the west wing, she gave a horrified cry.
"The library! The precious library!"
She tore along in a frantic breathless way, and found when she got there that the gardener and the postman and a few odd men were hard at work with a hose and buckets. The fire-engine had been sent for, but had not yet arrived.
"Oh, save the books! Save the books!" Orris cried.
And as the hose was playing on one of the French windows, without a thought of herself, she dashed in, and in spite of smoke and heat, actually got hold of a few priceless volumes that were nearest the window.
"Hold hard, miss; you can't do it. You'll be burnt!" the gardener called out.
But Orris seemed blind and deaf to everything but the precious books. Again she dashed in, but this time she enveloped herself in a blanket that had been brought from the house. The gardener arrayed himself in another, and followed her, but they could save but very few books. The fire was raging hotly, and the smoke caused by the hose playing into the room was suffocating.
It seemed a hideous nightmare to Orris! Three times she ventured in, and reclaimed some of her treasures; she was in too much excitement to notice whether she was burnt or not. For the fourth time she was going in, but there was a sudden clatter, and the fire-engine was upon the scene.
In the usual country way, a tremendous lot of talking took place before they got to work. Orris felt every minute was precious, and was about to dash into the room again, in spite of the protests around her, when she suddenly felt some one put his hands upon her shoulders from behind, and hold her in an iron grip.
"No, you don't! The firemen themselves can't enter that room now!"
Orris struggled frantically. She knew it was Jock who held her. He had come up on the fire-engine from the town.
"I must go!" she cried. "I must try to save some! Oh, think of it! The library! The books are priceless! Let me go!"
Jock tightened his hold, put his arm round her, and drew her away from the scene.
"If you promise to behave yourself, I'll go and help, but if you won't, I shall continue to hold you."
Inadvertently, he caught hold of one of her hands. She uttered a slight cry, and drew it away. Jock saw at once that both her hands were badly burned. Without a word, he caught her up in his arms, as if she were a baby, and carried her into the house.
Lady Violet and Reyne were watching with anxious eyes the awful conflagration in the west wing. But now the engine had arrived, they had hopes of saving the rest of the house.
Jock carried Orris into the drawing-room, which was in the east wing, and laid her upon one of the couches there. Then he saw that she had fainted. The shock and the burns she had received had been too much for her. Happily the telephone was in the house. Jock at once 'phoned for the doctor, and asked Reyne to stay with her.
"I must go back. We may save something. You're quite safe; the wind happily is not in this direction and is blowing away from us. Get some oil. Have you any lint? Cover her hands up as soon as you can. She may be burned elsewhere. I'll come back as soon as I can."
It seemed as if Jock took command of the whole situation.
"Water, and plenty of it, is the only chance," he said. "Come! Every one work away with a will!"
And before an hour had passed, the fire had been got under. Not, however, before the library had been completely gutted. But through the smoking debris Jock went in and out, still rescuing a few of the books which had escaped the flames. Alas! There were very few to save. The fire had been so fiercely fanned by the high wind, and the wooden shelves were so brittle and old, that only the charred and blackened fragments of the once famous library remained.
When Jock felt that he could do no more, he strode into the house to see how Orris was faring. The doctor had been and dressed her wounds. Both hands and one arm were severely burned, also her left leg and ankle. A great burnt hole in her dress showed where the fire had caught her.
He found her still lying on the couch, pale and exhausted. But the misery in her eyes was not due to her hurts.
Reyne was sitting by her.
"Oh, Mr. Muir, come and add your persuasions to mine. We want her to sleep here. She must; she isn't fit to be moved."
"It can't be thought of," said Orris, a hot flush coming to her cheeks. "It's very kind of you, but I must get back to Pippa and to my own bed." She finished her sentence with a wry smile. Then she looked up at Jock with eager eyes. "Have you saved any more of them? They can't—they can't be all destroyed."
"Yes, I've saved some more," he said soothingly. Then he turned to Reyne. "If you could let her be lifted into your car, I don't think she will hurt. Mrs. Preston is a born nurse. She'll only worry here. The sooner she's moved the better."
Reyne acquiesced reluctantly, but she felt she would have to be in attendance on her mother, as Lady Violet was much upset by the shock of it all, and she knew that Orris would be in good hands at the farm.
The car was brought round, and Jock again carried Orris down the broad steps and put her comfortably inside; then he got in beside her. For one moment his eyes turned to the blackened west wing, but he said nothing.
Orris, keenly sensitive to all around her, said quickly:
"It can't mean as much to you as it does to me. It seems like some evil dream. What a horrible dream it would be; and yet it is true—it's the awful fact!"
"It's a mercy you've escaped as you have," said Jock, looking at her bandaged limbs. "Didn't you realize what was happening to you?"
"No, oh no; it was the books that mattered. I did put out the flames when my skirt caught alight. I think I did it with the thick table-cloth. Oh, what can I do? How can I tell Mrs. Calthrop?"
"You talk as if you'd been the author of the fire," said Jock. "Don't worry so. You're agitating yourself unnecessarily."
"But how could it have caught fire? I can't understand it. There was no fire in the room. It's not a question of a defective chimney." She was getting flushed and excited.
Jock bent towards her.
"Look here," he said, "I'm not going to let you say another word. Lie still, or I shall take you in my arms again and make you."
Orris was dumb. The pain in her limbs was increasing. She was thankful when the farm was reached. In a very few moments, she was upon her own bed.
Jock delivered to Mrs. Preston a sleeping-draught, left by the doctor, and then went back to the scene of the fire. He was still anxious to pick out of the debris some of the treasures that had been in the library.
Mrs. Snow and the servants were so thankful to be untouched by the fire in their quarters that they did not seem to take any interest in the ruined library. Mrs. Snow spent her time in conjectures as to the origin of the fire, but could get no light upon it.
"Well, at any rate," she said, with a sniff, "Miss Coventry will have lost her job, and it seemed as if she were never coming to the end of it. I dare say she may have been careless with the matches. I've seen her using sealing-wax in there, and there's no telling. The room was all right before she went into it that morning, for I went in myself to see if the girl had dusted properly. It's a mystery which will have to be cleared up by some one."
CHAPTER IX
JOCK'S CONFESSION
PIPPA was not allowed to see her aunt that evening. Owing to the sleeping-draught, Orris had some sleep, but she was very feverish the next morning, and suffered acutely. Mrs. Preston did everything for her, though Orris begged for the attendance of Lily, the village girl.
"You are more than busy, I know. Please don't worry over me."
"My dear, it's a pleasure. I love nursing. When I was a girl, before I married, I always said I should like to nurse in a hospital. Lily is helping in the kitchen."
And then a soft little knock was heard at the door, and Pippa's most coaxing voice beseeching to be let in.
"Let her come," said Orris. "And you've done everything, dear Mrs. Preston. I can't thank you enough. I am ready to see the doctor now, and have only to wait for him."
Mrs. Preston left the room rather unwillingly, and Pippa, with big eyes, approached the bed.
"Poor Aunt Ollie! Master Jock has been telling me all about you. Is you very hurt?"
"No, darling. I shall soon be better." Then Orris raised herself a little on her pillow, and her soft dark eyes fixed themselves on her small niece's face. "Pippa dear, I want you to tell me exactly what you did yesterday, when I left you in the library."
Pippa frowned.
"I think I was puzzling out the puzzle."
"And then?"
"Then? Oh then—" Pippa hesitated.
"Well, don't be afraid. I know you are going to be truthful."
"I think the nex' thing was I tried to make some cigarettes like mummy's, out of the paper in the waste-paper basket."
"And then you took the matches?"
"Yes, I did, just to light the end of them, you know, but I was very tidy. I lighted them in the basket, but they wouldn't light. And then you came to the door, and I threw the matches in the basket, and you hurried me out, you know, because you said we'd be late for lunch."
Orris was silent. She could not speak for a moment. She and her niece between them had burnt down the library of a few hundred years. The fear had been in her heart from the time she had returned to the farm the evening before.
As her brain cleared, she had fixed upon Pippa as the culprit. And now her fears were realized. She lay, looking at her niece, unable to speak, and Pippa grew frightened.
"Are you angry with me, Aunt Ollie? I didn't make a fire, you know. The matches wouldn't light."
"I am afraid, my Pippa, the matches did light. Some little bit of paper must have burnt slowly and ignited the box, and then the flames spread and spread. How often you have been warned about fire!"
Pippa stared at her aunt uncomprehendingly.
And then the doctor came in, and she was sent away, and Mrs. Preston would not let her see her aunt again that day.
"She has a high temperature and some fever, and the doctor says she's to be kept very quiet," Mrs. Preston told her.
Pippa was unusually silent that day. Jock came up and tried to cheer her up. He thought it was her aunt's state that was depressing her, and she gave him no clue to her thoughts.
Orris herself was suffering so much from the pain of her burns, and also from the horror and anguish which she felt at the tragedy of the burnt library, that she almost forgot the existence of her little niece. She was light-headed for two days, and when finally her temperature dropped, and her pulse and heart were normal, she lay crushed and almost lifeless upon her bed. Nothing seemed to rouse her. Miss Dashwood, Reyne, and Jock called daily, but no one was allowed to see her.
At last, she was able to be moved out on the roomy couch in Mrs. Preston's sitting-room. And it was there Jock found her one sunny afternoon. He was shocked to see her so white and fragile.
She tried to smile when she saw him.
"You've been through a good deal to look like this," Jock said, as he bent over her.
"I can't shake hands," she murmured. "I am as helpless as a baby; I can't move one of my fingers."
"I am so sorry."
"Sit down," she said. "And don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"As if I were an object of pity! I am strong, and I am fast getting well. I am a weak coward; and at present, I am wishing I could die, for I feel I can't face life."
"That's not like you."
"No. Weren't you wishing that something would shake my self-sufficiency? You see a wreck now before you. I am down so low that I feel I shall never raise my head again. Tell me, what is done to people who through carelessness cause such a catastrophe, such a colossal loss, as that of Mrs. Calthrop's library? Has anything been heard of her? I know Mrs. Snow wired. Have you been down there?"
"I've been there every day, picking out charred fragments, in spite of Snuffy's warning me off the premises. Snuffy got a wire two or three days ago. They're coming back, posthaste, of course—will arrive this evening as a matter of fact. Lady Violet is afraid she will have to move her quarters again. But I have reassured her on that point; she has the house till the autumn, legally."
"I repeat again that I'm a coward," said Orris. "The guilty always are. I feel like a bogus company promoter who has ruined a few hundred widows and poor people, or a murderer. I fail to imagine Mrs. Calthrop's state of mind."
"Now look here, let's have a straight talk. Did you wilfully set that library on fire? Make a clean breast of it."
Orris gave a weak laugh.
"Wilfully destroy a thing that is my livelihood and the apple of my eye! I'll tell you. It was sheer negligence and carelessness to leave a child in that precious library alone. I did it."
In a few words she told him the facts of the case.
Jock was very grave and gentle. He seemed to be holding himself in, for he spoke slowly and thoughtfully, unlike his usual impetuous fashion.
"I don't think Mrs. Calthrop could blame you," he said, "but there's no saying what an angry woman will do, so I shall effectually suppress her. You need not be afraid. I shall see she does not come near you."
"Oh, how I could laugh at your assurance, if I wasn't so miserable," said Orris. "I don't know why I'm confiding in you like this. Put yourself in my place; what would you do? I won't run away, but that is what I should like to do. Of course, I shall meet Mrs. Calthrop. I shall not shirk that; and I shall tell her exactly what I have told you. But much as I feel for her, it's the books—the books I am thinking of. I had learnt the value of them; I had learnt to love them. It is through me that they have been destroyed. If I had not come here, the library would be safe and sound to-day. That rings on in my head all day, all night."
"But," said Jock, "I've heard that useless grief for the past lays up future grief for the present. Think that out. Dunscombe said that to me one day, and it's quite true. Books and possessions aren't the best of human life. If you had lost your life, now, ah! Where should I be?"
"My life at present seems of no value," said Orris in a hopeless tone.
"My darling!—Yes, I will say it; you can't stop me—I should like to take you in my arms and comfort you, but I daren't touch you. And that's the confounded nuisance of it! Listen. Suppose the library belonged to me, would you feel as bad about it as you do now?"
"I can't suppose such a case. Yes, the loss of it would weigh just as heavily on my soul. Of course, my pride squirms at Mrs. Calthrop's just indignation. I know her well. I have had dealings with her at the Club in town; and whilst she has always been kind to me, I have seen her very hard and bitter to those who vex and annoy her. But, of course, I merit her displeasure. I can go through with that."
"You shall not," Jock said decisively. "Don't you know I would guard and keep you from the least annoyance if I could? And I have power in this matter. Poor little Pippa has precipitated matters. I guarantee that Mrs. Calthrop shall not give you one unkind word. She will not have the right to do so."
"Oh, how can you talk so?" said Orris. "But it's very kind of you."
"Kind!" Jock muttered another word under his breath. "Well, you shall have something else to think of to-night besides the loss of the library and Mrs. Calthrop's wrath. But I think I must first tell you of a scene I have had with Snuffy to-day. She heard I was digging about amongst the burnt rubbish in the library, and came off like a hot fury to see what I was about. I laughed at her, as usual, and told her I was working on behalf of the owner of the library.
"Then she dared to say something about you. I think I'll tell you, to let you know the sort she is. She said she'd always had her doubts as to what you were really doing with the books. Any auctioneer could come up and catalogue those books in a week, she said. And she'd an idea that you knew Mrs. Calthrop was coming back, and just made a bonfire of the whole to hide your idleness, etc. So I fixed her with my eye.
"'Out of this house you go this day month,' I said. And I think she saw I was in a white fury, for she quailed under my gaze. 'And you've lost a comfortable fat job by your false, malicious tongue. You're not fit to lie down and lick Miss Coventry's boots, though I'd like to make you do it.'
"She tossed her head. 'And who are you to talk of giving me notice?' she said.
"And I answered: 'You'll know that within the next four-and-twenty hours.'
"She crept off like a whipped hound. I don't often show my ire, but she got it red-hot, I can tell you!"
"But I really don't understand you, and why you take such a high hand," murmured Orris, feeling bewildered by his talk.
"I'm putting off my explanation because I don't know how you'll take it. If only you'll put your hand in mine! No, you can't do that—but just assure me with your sweet lips that you will try to care for the vagrant and ne'er-do-well; it will make the telling easier." Jock smiled into her face so persuasively that Orris shut her eyes.
"Oh, my dear," he went on, "what does a library more or less matter if you and I come together? I'd rather lose ten hundred libraries than just lose you. I've been awfully patient. Do be kind! Tell me to hope. Give me some slight encouragement! If you have had wakeful nights, I have too. There's a lot before me, but I can go through it so joyfully if you'll only let me have your love."
But Orris shook her head and, weak as she was, the tears came to her eyes.
Jock was all compunction at once.
"What a brute I am! Mrs. Preston will be giving it to me for agitating you."
"No," said Orris, "you are not agitating me. But at this juncture, when I've been the cause of such a calamity, it isn't the time to become engaged to you. I suppose you think you could fight my battles for me. I thank you with all my heart for the thought, but I can stand alone. I have done it for several years now."
"Then hear my confession! I hope you will believe me! Just before my aunt died, after she had made her will, leaving me out of it, she went up to London, to be free for one day from the supervision of her cousins. She had been thinking over things, and had got at the truth of a few of the misrepresentations about her errant nephew. In that one day in town, she went to a strange lawyer, got a short and simple will made out, in which she left me every single thing she possessed. This she, in the calmest and most rash way, posted off to me with a letter saying why she did so. It was the merest fluke that I got it, as I was travelling about at the time. I came home as soon as I could, and found that the Calthrops were in possession. It amused me—the situation; and when Snuffy shut me out, I thought I would play round for a bit, and see what they were doing.
"Then one day as you know, I determined to get into my own house. The Elf received me so delightfully and whole-heartedly that I continued the game; and when you came in—well, you bowled me over. I found out all about you when I left. I wanted to know you. I knew if I took possession of my house your job would be over, and you would fly back to town; then I should never see you again. So, to gain time, I laid low, and, honestly, I've found the life here well worth living. And I have learnt to know you. I believe I know you through and through, and we are close friends—you can't deny it."
He paused.
Orris lay and looked up at him with blanched lips. Never had she imagined such a situation as this. She managed to gasp out:
"Then the library is yours, and I have destroyed it for you. Oh, it's worse than ever!"
"Is it? I don't think so. The library was the cause of my leaving home. I had no reason to love it—until you came there. Since then it has been different. Don't you see that we can snap our fingers at everybody now, and go and get married to-morrow? Then we shall be able to rebuild the west wing with the insurance money, and live happily ever after."
"Oh, what a boy you are! I really feel overwhelmed. I can't take it all in. Does nobody know this secret of yours?"
"Only Dunscombe, and he's not a talker, as you know. He has kept 'mum.' No, nobody knows."
"But you must—you must feel the loss of the library. It never, never can be replaced."
"I'm saving odds and ends of it in spite of Snuffy. You know your Bible better than I; doesn't it remind us that we brought nothing into the world, neither can take anything out of it? I am not a reader; the few years of my life will be, I hope, none the less happy for not owning a famous library. I did feel incensed at Mrs. Calthrop wishing to sell it, but of course she never could. That knowledge comforted me."
"Oh, how you must have been laughing up your sleeve at us all! I so often wondered why you took the loss of your inheritance so calmly."
"Honestly, I shouldn't have minded losing it. I'm a born farmer. What has vexed me is seeing the Home Farm being so mismanaged. I ached to run it myself. Now I shall have that pleasure. Has my news cheered you?"
"I think it has," said Orris, smiling, "I feel so glad for you. How I have wasted my pity on you!"
"Never! I claim with gladness every atom of it. I shall want more from you than that; and I'm going to have it, too. You can't get away from me, Orris. It wasn't only your figure, your grace, your sweetness, but your soul I saw shining through you that first day. My soul flew straight to yours. You drew me as a magnet. I shan't worry you more now. I've given you a lot to think about. I'm going over to Pinestones this evening. I'm not going to take the chance of Mrs. Calthrop or her son arriving over here."
"I shouldn't mind. She would not come to-night, after her long journey. Let her have a night in peace. You can afford to be generous. It will be such a blow."
"You're siding with her. Does she require our sympathy? I feel bitter. She so systematically set to work to oust me and to influence my poor old aunt. I have her letter which says so. But I'll do as you say. After all, Mrs. Preston has you in her charge. She can refuse to let her see you. Now will you promise me to sleep to-night? May I—may I do what you do to the little Elf?"
"What is that?" asked Orris unthinkingly.
"I'll show you." Stooping, he kissed her on the cheek. "God bless you, darling sweetheart!"
And then he turned and fled, whilst Orris lay back on her cushions, not knowing whether it was anger or joy that brought the red blood rushing up into her face.
"He's so audacious," she murmured. And then she lay still, thinking over his news and fitting it into the past, wondering at her density in not having discovered his secret before.
As Jock went out of the farm, Pippa came dancing up to him.
"Have you seen Aunt Ollie?"
"Yes, and she's far from well yet. Are you keeping your promise and being a little angel?"
Pippa nodded.
"Do angels play see-saw? Tom Bridge has made me such a lovely one across that big lumpy bank the other side of the barn. Do come and try it!"
In a moment, like a boy, he was off with her. Mrs. Preston heard her screams of delighted laughter and shook her head.
"Ah, Jock, you ought to have a child of your own, you love them so!" she said, and then she went to Orris.
Orris said nothing of what she had heard. Jock evidently was still keeping his own counsel, and until he had seen Mrs. Calthrop, she concluded that he wished the matter to be kept quiet.
But when Pippa came to wish her good-night later on, she said, with big eyes:
"Master Jock says that p'raps next Sunday he'll ask Lady Vi'let to let me see the powder-room again. Won't Snuffy be angry when Master Jock and I creep upstairs and hide ourselves away in it? And he says one day he'll show me an old dolls' house in one of the top attics. It belonged to a little cousin of his who died, and it's very, very old. But it may in some wonderful way come to be mine one day. How do you think he will manage it? Will he be a buggler, and climb up into a window and steal it?"
"My darling, he would never steal."
"No; I suppose he wouldn't. Oh, Aunt Ollie, don't you 'love' Master Jock? When I was hugging him just now, he laughed and said he wished you were there, and then we'd all hug together. Shall we do it nex' time he comes? You could say, one, two, three, and away, and then we'd all do it together."
"Run away to bed, darling," was her aunt's comment.
And obeying, Pippa turned back at the door.
"I hope I shan't have to wait long for that dolls' house. Master Jock seemed to think it might be got for me before very, very long. Isn't fifteen days a 'very' long time?"
"A very short time to me."
"I'll ask God in my prayers to cut off a few days. He could do it easy. He could make the sun skip them over; they could be got rid of while we were sleeping."
Pippa disappeared.
Her aunt lay back on her couch and thought and thought, and finally evolved a certain plan of action in her head, which somewhat eased her troubled mind.
CHAPTER X
ORRIS'S LETTER
JOCK arrived at Pinestones about eleven o'clock the next morning. Dan opened the door, and looked rather scared when he saw him.
"I want to see Miss Archer."
Dan hesitated, then led the way to the drawing-room, and in a few moments Reyne appeared.
"Is Mrs. Calthrop staying here?" he asked, after they had shaken hands.
"Yes, for the night. Mother begged her to stay longer, but she and her son are going to the 'Golden Bells' in the village. They seem to prefer it. How is Orris? I can't tell you how upset the Calthrops are. Mrs. Snow has told them that it must have been through some carelessness of Orris's that the fire took place. I can't understand it, but I'm sure Orris is not responsible for it, and I told Mrs. Calthrop so. She is going to the farm this afternoon to see her."
"No, she isn't," said Jock, smiling. "I must see this good lady. Wish me well through a most unpleasant interview, Miss Archer. It is imperative that I should see her, but I think she will decline to do it. You must get us together, for I'm not going away till I've had an interview."
Reyne looked at him a little uncertainly. He spoke so decisively that she felt he would not be easily turned away.
"I will go up to her. She has not left her room yet."
"Thank you. I hoped you would be my messenger; the fat would be in the fire if you sent old Snuffy."
When she left him, Jock paced to and fro in the big drawing-room with compressed lips. Once he paused, and with his hands in his pockets stood looking out of the long windows, facing the garden. Then it was that a dreamy look came into his eyes.
"I wonder," he murmured, "how soon I shall win her."
It was a long time before Mrs. Calthrop appeared. He judged rightly. She had at first flatly declined to see him, and said it was great impertinence for him to come near the house, but Reyne pleaded his cause.
"I think it is on some urgent business matter. He would not come here unless it was. He is generally too hard at work to make morning calls. He may bring you a message from Miss Coventry. He works on the farm where she lodges."
"From what I hear," said Mrs. Calthrop with asperity, "they are continually together. And his behaviour towards the old housekeeper here has been most insolent. He can have nothing to say to me."
"He may have discovered the origin of the fire. I told him I would bring you down. I hope I did not do wrong."
After some further persuasion Mrs. Calthrop came downstairs.
When she opened the drawing-room door, her demeanour was haughty and cold.
Jock looked at her, and a feeling of pity shot through his heart. Then he said:
"I know you are surprised, and not very pleased to see me, but I shall not stay long. This fire is a terrible affair. I conclude you have kept up the insurance for the house and library?"
"That is my concern, not yours," said Mrs. Calthrop. "But as a matter of fact, the insurance people are getting the police here to inquire into the circumstances. It seems very mysterious. Miss Coventry may throw some light upon the matter. I am going to see her this afternoon."
"That will be unnecessary when you have heard what I have to say. Directly I heard of my aunt's death, I came home. As you must know, the contents of her will were totally unexpected. But you acted too precipitately. She made a later will than that which you possess, and it is a very different one."
"I should like to see it."
Mrs. Calthrop spoke calmly, but her lips went white. She sat down, and rested her clasped hands upon a small table in front of her.
"I have a copy of it. The original is with the lawyer in town, who drew it up. Here it is. I should also like you to see a letter which my aunt wrote to me. She did a very unusual and a rash thing: she sent me her will by ordinary post, and told me to keep it until after her death. She must have died within a few weeks of signing it."
Mrs. Calthrop took the document and letter from him. She opened the letter first. It was as follows:
"MY DEAREST JOCK,—
"Yesterday I met the postman coming in at the gate and received your
welcome letter. I have never received any letters from you at all for
the last two years, or longer, but I am Inexpressibly thankful to know
that you have been working so well and steadily all this time. I was
led to suppose otherwise. I am not at all well. I wish you were home.
I have not been myself, and am now but a cipher in my own house. My
cousin Letitia overwhelms me.
"I cannot withstand her, and even Edmund has got upon my nerves. I
am sorry for the causes that drove you away. I shall go up to town
to-morrow and make a fresh will, 'by myself.' I am a free agent, after
all. And I shall send it out to you for safety. Wills get lost, and I
want you to come home and settle down and run the farm as you wished.
"I was unduly influenced last year after a bad attack of flu; and I
almost was made to believe that you were dead—or, at any rate, gone to
the bad altogether. And now I find that it is not true, and I'm glad
and thankful. My dearest love, and write to me again.
"Your loving aunt,
"ELLA."
Mrs. Calthrop read this letter through with icy composure. Then she took up the copy of the will, but she did not read it.
"I would ask you to leave this with me. I would like my lawyer to see it. It is a very extraordinary proceeding. I cannot understand such a complete change of thought and action. Her mind must have been unhinged at the last." Her voice was steady, but her hand trembled.