CHAPTER XIV.

AN ENCOUNTER.

"I AM not ill, I assure you. There is nothing wrong with me. It is only a spirit of idleness," Gwendoline said, blushing.

"We must consider how the spirit of idleness can best be met," said Mr. Fosbrook, in his drily polite manner, glancing from Gwendoline to Lady Halcot. "I should not imagine idleness to be Miss Halcombe's usual failing."

"On the contrary, she has an energetic temperament," said Lady Halcot. "But I do not think she is very strong just now."

"What are Miss Halcombe's favourite occupations, may I ask?" Mr. Fosbrook addressed the remark generally.

"Painting—has been," Gwendoline answered, as the elder lady remained silent.

"And is it not now?"

"I can't take it up yet. I am idle," repeated Gwendoline.

"A little reaction, possibly, from too steady application in the past."

"That did not occur to me," said Lady Halcot.

"Don't try the painting at present. You will return to it with more zest by and by if you give yourself a few weeks of thorough rest first. Are you fond of riding?"

"I have never been on horseback."

"And how about walks? I do not mean mere garden-strolls, but brisk country walks and seashore rambles."

Gwendoline coloured brightly, and Lady Halcot did not look quite pleased. "Miss Halcombe spends at least an hour in the grounds every morning; but walking seems to fatigue her."

"I would not think too much of that. Let her take a sharp walk, and, if necessary, go to sleep afterwards for an hour. Perhaps a morning on the beach would be a pleasant change sometimes. Are you devoted to sea-anemones, Miss Halcombe?"

"I do not know much about them. I should like—" and she paused.

"I could lend you a little book on the subject." He had noted her expression of pleasure. "Merely as a guide to your own researches on the beach."

Lady Halcot counted all this beside the mark, and she intimated with dignity that Gwendoline's presence was no longer required. Mr. Fosbrook stood up to shake hands, remarking, "You had better leave art alone for a while, and take to nature instead."

Gwendoline went away, smiling, and the doctor had a somewhat lengthy interview with Lady Halcot. After his departure, Gwendoline was recalled.

"Would you like to go to the shore this morning?"

Gwendoline's face said more than words in response.

"Mr. Fosbrook does not think there is much wrong with you, but he recommends sea-bathing and as much fresh air and exercise as possible. It is unfortunate that Miss Withers is such a poor walker. You cannot, of course, go alone into the country, but Mr. Fosbrook assures me that you will be perfectly safe upon the beach. He thinks you will enjoy yourself more alone than if I sent Frith as your attendant. I am willing to try the experiment, trusting to your discretion. I need scarcely say that you will, of course, exchange words with no one. I have a great objection to the making of stray acquaintances."

Gwendoline did her best to put the old lady's mind at rest, and speedily started upon her solitary ramble, feeling like a caged bird set free. She had not passed an hour of such enjoyment for many a day. It was a sunny morning, and the half high tide, as it came in, was dropping little lines of froth along the pebbles. Small green waves washed up and broke in quick succession; while the pale blue, farther out, reflecting the sky, was varied by snatches of grey from passing clouds. Gwendoline paced to and fro, restlessly happy. The sea never saddened her, as it saddens some people, but it preached her a sermon that morning. The great ocean was so hard at work, climbing the little belt of shore, seeming to expend much energy on a small object, and gaining that object only to fall back beaten so soon as victory was obtained. Yet was it thus in reality? If in that hour its appointed work was done, its Maker's will was accomplished, could the object have been slight, or the apparent failure real?

"I think not," Gwendoline murmured half-aloud. "I suppose one ought to be willing and ready for anything, advance or retreat, conquest or defeat, no matter what, so long as God chooses it for us. I should like to feel so about my every-day life,—just to have my whole heart set on the simple doing of His will."

Lady Halcot counted her experiment successful when Gwendoline returned, fresh and hungry, from her ramble.

"Mr. Fosbrook is right," she said. "We must follow his advice."

And during several successive mornings the same plan was pursued.

Gwendoline had taken with her one day a little volume of poetry, and was busily reading, seated on a low rock, the first of that same jutting series where had taken place her adventure with the little boy. Voices near made her turn her head mechanically.

Gwendoline sprang to her feet, as if from an electric shock. "Honor!" burst from her lips, and she was in Honora Dewhurst's arms.

The instant's impulse over, Gwendoline woke up to the realities of her position, and she stepped back, yet not before Honora was gravely putting her off.

"Oh, Honor, why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"Why, Honor, if this isn't your pretty young friend, Miss Gwendoline Halcombe! How do you do, my dear,—how 'do' you do? Allow me to congratulate you heartily on the rise in your circumstances. I hope her ladyship, Lady Halcot, is quite well."

Gwendoline stood still in blank dismay. She remembered Lady Halcot's prohibition,—yet what could she do? Mr. Widrington came near with outstretched arm and beaming face; and she slowly put her little hand into his. One shake did not satisfy Mr. Widrington. He moved her hand up and down energetically, renewing his congratulations with an air of paternal encouragement.

"Quite a pleasure to see you again, Miss Halcombe,—I do assure you it is quite a pleasure. We haven't forgotten you in our little home,—no, no, my old wifie and I we often talk of you, and she used to think at first you'd maybe drop in some day, and have a cup of tea with us. But I said to her, 'No, no, wifie,' says I, 'Miss Halcombe's a grand young woman now, in a sphere above us, and depend on it she's got other fish to fry, so we needn't look to see her in our humble dwelling!' And sure enough we didn't. Not as I'm offended, so don't you think it, Miss Halcombe. But I'm not sorry for this opportunity to congratulate you on your prospects, and I'm sure you'll accept the congratulations as meant."

Honora, who had been studying Gwendoline's face, spoke suddenly: "Gwen, is this permitted?"

Gwendoline's lips scarcely formed the monosyllable, "No."

"Then we will say good-bye at once."

"Oh, Honor, let me have a few words, just a few words with you," Gwendoline said pleadingly. "I don't think she would mind that, really."

"I understand." Honora considered for a moment, then turned to her uncle. "Would you mind leaving us together for two or three minutes?" she asked. "Miss Halcombe must not stay, and we have not met for so long."

"To be sure, my dear, to be sure; it's a true saying that three is no company. I'll make for the cliff, and wait your leisure; and don't you hurry yourselves on any account. Women always have plenty to say to one another. I don't mind if I'm an hour waiting."

"Kind old man!" Gwendoline murmured, as after another vigorous hand-shake, he withdrew.

"Now, Gwen, tell me what is permitted."

"I may correspond with you, and that of course means that you are acknowledged as my friend. I do not think Lady Halcot would mind my meeting you, here or elsewhere."

"I see. She would tolerate me as an artist. But you are not to meet my uncle as an acquaintance."

Another soft "No" was the answer.

"It has been spoken about?"

"I told her all at first. I thought it right. And she said—'that' must stop."

"The other must stop too," said Honora quietly.

Gwendoline gave only a look.

"I do not mean that the correspondence must stop, or the friendship, my darling. But when I am staying with my uncle, I cannot have differences made that would pain him. If you must pass him without notice, you must pass me too. Your meeting him occasionally is unavoidable, especially now you are allowed to go about more alone. I shall tell him simply what he has to expect, and that it is by Lady Halcot's desire; and if I put myself in the same category with himself, he will not be hurt. Gwen, don't sob!"

"Oh, Honor!—If I could but go home!"

"Hush, you must not wish that. For your mother's sake, Gwennie dear, don't wish it. Think how comfortable and easy they all are now, in comparison with the past. And you are happy at the Leys, are you not?"

"I suppose so," Gwendoline could hardly utter.

"Don't cry, Gwen,—you make me feel myself so cruel. Yet surely you see with me that I cannot act differently."

"I don't know. I think I only see my own side of the matter," said Gwendoline, with a tearful smile. "I do try to be brave, but sometimes I have such a heart-thirst for you and mother. Lady Halcot is very kind; but nobody loves me here, Honor, and nothing seems really worth doing. Miss Withers does everything for Lady Halcot, and I never have a chance of being useful in that direction. Lady Halcot won't hear of my taking a class in the Sunday school; and if I propose to work for the poor, she says I may give orders to my maid to do anything I like. And, though I have a large allowance, she expects me to spend so much upon myself, and overlooks the spending so closely, that I cannot give away much. What am I to do, Honor? I know you won't say anything of all this to mother; but I have been longing to ask somebody, and I have no friend here. What ought I to do?"

Honora looked very tenderly into the sweet face, with its brimming sorrowful eyes. "It is not so very hard a question to answer, my darling," she said. "Just do what your Master gives you to do."

"But, Honor, He gives me nothing."

"Then be content to do that."

"Nothing!"

"Certainly, if such is His will for you just now. A master is entirely at liberty to bid his servant stand with folded hands for an hour, if he please."

Gwendoline looked dreamily towards the horizon.

"Yes," she said, "of course he is. And the servant ought to obey without grumbling."

"Unquestionably."

"But doesn't it seem a waste of time? So much needs to be done."

"The seeming is not reality. God knows the need better than you or I can do. Perhaps you are being prepared for some work, which you would never be able to undertake without some such previous testing of your will as this."

"But if it lasts a long time?"

"It will not last longer than is good for you."

There was a brief pause, and Honora said gently, "Gwen, we must part."

"Just five minutes more."

Honora yielded, and the five minutes grew into ten of low-voiced conversation. After that she would consent to no longer delay.

Gwendoline stood like a statue, watching her friend rejoin Mr. Widrington on the cliff, watching still until the two disappeared. Then with a full heart, yet cheered and comforted, she made her way homewards.

Leisure for thought came now, and a sense of fear crept over her. What would Lady Halcot say? Had she acted wrongly?

One thing was clear. The whole truth would have to be told without delay, cost what it might. Gwendoline had no manner of hesitation there.

Reaching the Leys, she was met in the hall by Miss Withers.

"You have come back," that lady observed, with what struck Gwendoline as a singular expression.

"Yes," Gwendoline said simply. "Where is Lady Halcot?"

"Her ladyship is occupied, and desires not to be interrupted at present."

There was nothing remarkable in this. Gwendoline passed on silently to her own rooms, and there indulged in so absorbing a dream of home-faces and home-news that she lost count of time, and the luncheon-bell rang unexpectedly. Gwendoline hastened down-stairs, regretting that she had not made an effort to see Lady Halcot. It was too late now.

Luncheon proved to be a silent meal that day. Lady Halcot's nose and mouth wore their most rigid look; Conrad Withers seemed conscious and uncomfortable; and Miss Withers bore an aspect of humble satisfaction. Gwendoline became conscious of something unusual in the atmosphere. Whether or no this something unusual were connected with herself, she wisely resolved to be prompt in what she had to do.

"You have all finished?" Lady Halcot said at length, glancing round and rising. Other words were on her lips, but Gwendoline forestalled them.

"May I speak to you alone, if you please?"

"Certainly," Lady Halcot said, casting a swift glance at the girl's pale face.

She did not see how another face in the room fell, but led the way to her own boudoir, and placed herself in her favourite arm-chair. Gwendoline stood near, trembling slightly, but resolutely calm.

"Miss Withers said you were engaged when I came in, or I would have told you sooner. I have seen my friend, Honora Dewhurst!"

"Where?" asked Lady Halcot.

"On the beach. She is staying for a night or two with her uncle and aunt, Mr. and Mrs. Widrington, and she came there with her uncle. I was taken by surprise, and I did not know what to do. He and I shook hands."

"That 'did not know what to do' is not quite ingenuous, Gwendoline," said Lady Halcot coldly. "You could scarcely have forgotten my desire."

"No, but—with Honor there—I did not know how, indeed," said Gwendoline in distress. "I could not refuse to notice him."

"Certainly you could. I expect you to do so in future."

Gwendoline thought of a dozen different things to say, and said none of them.

"Your only excuse is that you were, as you say, taken by surprise. But it must not happen again. The Widringtons are not to be received as acquaintances in any sense by you. Have you told me all?"

Gwendoline considered painfully, finding some difficulty in commanding her thoughts, with those stern bright eyes upon her.

"Honor asked if it was allowed, and I said 'No;' and she asked him to leave us. I thought you would not mind my talking to Honor herself for a few minutes."

"Only a few minutes?"

"I don't think it could have been more than a quarter of an hour, but I cannot be sure. She was telling me about all of them at home, and the time went very fast."

"Did you talk of nothing else?"

Gwendoline blushed vividly. "Yes; I was telling her I wished I could be of more use to—to somebody—to people."

"You are of use to me. That ought to be sufficient. Have you told me all?"

"Not quite. I am afraid I kissed Honora at the first moment more warmly than you would have liked. But it was so sudden."

"I do not approve of school-girlish ecstasies, especially in public. But I have not had to complain of your manner before."

"You shall not again, if I can help it," said Gwendoline quietly.

"And about the Widringtons? That has to be put an end to, decisively. Either you must not meet them, or you must make them understand your respective positions."

"I think I had better not go on the shore again at present."

"Mr. Fosbrook wishes you to bathe."

"Yes, twice a week; I can manage that safely by going early,—but I will not sit about on the beach again. I do not want to give pain unnecessarily."

"Very well," Lady Halcot said, and she sat looking at Gwendoline thoughtfully.

"You need not stand," she remarked. "Gwendoline, it is well that you have acted with openness. I had already heard of this interview."

Gwendoline's astonishment was unmistakable.

"It does not matter how,—still, I have no objection to your knowing. Mr. Withers was on the cliff during the early part of the affair, and on arrival here, he naturally told his aunt what he had seen. Miss Withers felt it her duty to inform me. It is well therefore that you have been frank. If you had kept back any particulars, my trust in you would have suffered. The only complaint I have now to make is of your want of presence of mind. There was plainly no deliberate intention to disobey."

"I hope there never will be," Gwendoline said, in a low voice, smothering with difficulty a sharp sense of indignation at Miss Withers' conduct.

"It would have been singular," Lady Halcot said, in a musing tone, unusual with her,—"singular if to-day of all days I had found cause to think less well of you. You do not understand me, of course, and there is no need that you should. Still, it is well that you should see clearly the relations in which we stand to one another. By certain alterations made in my will, and completed this very morning, you are made heiress to the greater part of that property which lies at my own disposal,—not the Halcot estate, but that which came to me from my mother. Unless you give me reason to revoke this step, you will some day be a tolerably rich woman."

Gwendoline showed no excitement, as the old lady had expected. She received the news in silence, and, after some serious thought, she said simply, "I hope that if I ever am rich, I shall use my money rightly."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"No, I ought to thank you," said Gwendoline. "And I do, indeed I do. Only I wish—"

"You wish what?"

"That it could be left to my mother instead of to me."

"There is no need to enter upon that question," said Lady Halcot, with less displeasure than she would have shown some weeks earlier. "Your mother took her deliberate choice, and she must abide by it. I do not wish this matter talked about, remember."

"No," replied Gwendoline; "I will be very careful—and of course you might change your mind again. Shall I tell my mother, or would you rather not?"

"I leave that to your discretion."

"Did Mr. Selwyn come?" asked Gwendoline suddenly.

"To Riversmouth—to-day? No; I wished it, but he was unable. Had he done so, I should have remembered that he was an old acquaintance of yours. Now you may dress for our drive."

Gwendoline understood that no more was to be said, and she moved away, outwardly quiet, but inwardly much stirred. As she passed along the corridor leading to her room, Conrad Withers suddenly darted towards her from some unknown corner, and brought himself to an abrupt pause.

"Miss Halcombe!—Miss Halcombe! Just one word, I entreat of you! The old lady has let the cat out of the bag! I knew she would. I see it in your look. Can you ever forgive me?"

Gwendoline stood still, and gravely scrutinized his perturbed face. "How much have I to forgive?" she asked.

"I assure you I didn't mean any harm, but I'm a most unlucky fellow—always putting my foot in it! I saw you were awfully delighted to get hold of the young lady, and it made me laugh to see old Widrington sawing your hand up and down and speechifying! I just told my aunt out of fun, and never dreamt of anything else, till I saw she took it as a serious matter. I assure you I didn't mean any harm."

"It was nothing worse than a little gossip on your part," said Gwendoline.

"Well, you see it's so tremendously dull here. If I didn't have a little fun sometimes, I should die of the dumps, I do believe. But you'll forgive me, won't you?"

"There has been no harm done," said Gwendoline, with a certain quiet dignity which Conrad thought fascinating. "But there might have been. Another time I shall feel much obliged to you and your aunt if you will leave me to make my own explanations. Miss Withers may be perfectly sure that Lady Halcot will not fail to hear everything from me. Perhaps you will kindly say this to your aunt."

"I'll see that she understands. And I'll bite off my tongue before ever I tell her anything about you again," said Conrad.

"Stay," Gwendoline said, as he made a move. "When did Miss Withers tell her story to Lady Halcot?"

"Oh, she just kept watch outside the door till the lawyer's man—Mr. what d'you call him?—was gone, and then she went in, and never left Lady Halcot till the luncheon-bell rang. 'I' knew what it meant, the moment I saw the old lady's face; and wasn't I mad with myself? Hallo! There she comes! I must be off, or I shall catch it!" And Conrad sped past Lady Halcot, receiving a sharp glance of questioning as he went.