CHAPTER XII.

MR. LORRAINE SENDS FOR HIS SOLICITOR.

IT was the last day of the year. A thaw had set in and disappointed the skaters, but now the ground was again hard with frost, and a cold, grey sky seemed to presage snow. Early in the afternoon, Aldyth went down to the Brands, to see if the girls were inclined for a walk, but found neither of them at home, so after a brief chat with their mother, she started alone, and turning into the Tolleshunt Road, set off for a brisk walk.

It was very cold, but to Aldyth's vigorous young frame, the cold brought only enjoyment. She was not sorry to take a solitary walk. The close of the year gave her much to think about. She liked to look back over its months, and recall all that had happened. There was pleasure, too, in conjecturing as to the coming year, for Aldyth's past had known no shadows that could make her look forward with dread to the unknown future. She did not cherish melancholy thoughts, and indulge in gloomy imaginations, like Hilda Bland. Aldyth's inner life was healthy and glad. She did not magnify her girlhood's trials, nor brood over past vexations. Already she could smile at Guy's folly on Hilda's birthday night, and persuade herself that her grand-uncle would soon learn how unreasonable was his expectation with regard to her. It was not in the power of such considerations to depress her long.

They seemed of such slight moment in comparison with all the beautiful things of life, which for her had still the "glory and the freshness of a dream." It was by virtue of her childlike joy in life that Aldyth helped to make life beautiful to others, who scarcely knew to what they should ascribe the charm they found in her sweet, genial presence.

Aldyth's mind in its retrospection had travelled along the year to the time of John Glynne's coming to Woodham. She was recalling her annoyance at having to give up the lectures, when, raising her eyes, she perceived the lecturer within a few yards of her. She smiled involuntarily. It seemed so strange that he should appear at that moment.

Mr. Glynne had several boys with him, Charlie Bland amongst the number, and they seemed to have had a long tramp in the country. He was a great favourite with his pupils, and even in the holidays they gathered about him. It was by no laxity of rule that he had won their liking, for he had the character of being the strictest of all the Grammar School masters. In no other class was such perfect discipline maintained as in his. A look, or at most a word, from him was sufficient to check all unruliness. The boys knew that he was not to be trifled with, for John Glynne had the sternness which, in a strong character, counterbalances gentleness and goodness of heart. No one could be more severe when the occasion was one which demanded severity. The boy detected in cramming or shamming was likely to receive a lesson he would not soon forget.

John Glynne met Aldyth's recognition with one of the full, sweet smiles which gave to his face, homely enough otherwise, a rare attraction. He paused to speak to her, and the boys trooped on, all except Charlie Bland, who felt as if Aldyth belonged to him, and he had a right to linger by her side.

"I am glad to meet you, Miss Lorraine," he said. "I was thinking of dropping in presently to say good-bye to your aunt. I am going up to town by the five o'clock train."

"Oh, are you really going home?" said Aldyth. "Then your sister is better?"

"She pronounces herself quite well now. She was to return with my mother from Brighton this morning. The house is ready, so we meet again as a united family to-night to begin the New Year together."

"Oh, that is nice," said Aldyth, heartily; "I am very glad your sister is all right again. You know I feel as if I knew her, although we have never met."

"I wish very much that she could meet you," said John Glynne, earnestly; "I am sure you two would be friends. Well, I must say good-bye, Miss Lorraine, though not for long. We shall soon be at work again, eh, Charlie?"

Charlie made such a comical grimace that Aldyth laughed.

"That is not a pleasant anticipation for Charlie, I am afraid," she said. "Do not trouble to call on aunt, Mr. Glynne; you would not find her at home."

"No? Then I must ask you to tell her of my intention. Good-bye, Miss Aldyth; I wish you a happy New Year."

"Thank you," said Aldyth. "And I wish you and your mother and sister the same. Somehow, I think it must be a happy New Year."

"For you, no doubt," he replied, looking a little enviously at the girl's glad face, glowing with health and happiness. "You have a bright prospect before you."

"Oh, I don't know," said Aldyth, a little sigh escaping as she spoke. "I begin every year with hope—the hope that it will bring my mother home to me. It seems to me that she will surely come next year; but I may be disappointed again. You cannot understand what it is to be separated from your mother all your life."

"No, I cannot," he said, his tone full of sympathy. "It must be hard. I do hope the New Year will bring you the great joy of her return."

Aldyth smiled; but her eyes grew moist. The very thought of that joy affected her like pain.

"It is a pity you are going away just as there is a chance of some skating," remarked Charlie to his tutor as they walked on. "You should see Aldyth skate. I think she is as clever on her skates as Kitty; though every one says Kitty is the best girl skater at Woodham. Guy was trying to teach Hilda last winter; but she is a duffer! She is too afraid of falling to do anything."

Glynne scarcely heard his words. He was lost in thought. Surely it was more than the hope of her mother's return which made Aldyth Lorraine speak so confidently of a happy New Year. Well, Guy Lorraine was a happy fellow. If only he had seemed a little more capable of appreciating the treasure he had won!

Finding his remarks met with no attention, Charlie ran on to overtake the other boys. His company was not missed. John Glynne walked slowly, and his vacant glance took no notice of two persons who were to be seen coming along a narrow lane which ran between the fields and led from the London Road to the Tolleshunt Road. In summer, the overhanging trees made the narrow walk delightfully shady, and wild flowers grew luxuriantly on either side; but now, when the trees were bare and not a flower to be seen, the lane had no attraction save such as its loneliness offered.

Glynne received an impression that the two walking there must be lovers; but he did not recognize the tall, squarely-built form nor the petite, girlish figure, which was such an extreme contrast to its height and strength. He could not suppose it to be of any consequence to him who the two were who found such pleasure in each other's society.

But a pair of eyes, very much on the alert to mark all that passed before them, had observed the two at the other end of the lane ere they passed into its shelter. Guy had been far from thinking, when he asked Hilda to meet him at Wood Corner that afternoon, that his uncle was likely to be anywhere in that neighbourhood. But Stephen Lorraine owned a farm not far from Wood Corner, and driving homewards from another direction, he remembered that his tenant had spoken to him about repairs. No time like the present, he decided, though to call at the farm would take him several miles out of his way.

Thus it happened that he suddenly appeared in the London Road, near the spot where Guy and Hilda had met. He was quick to recognize the tall, handsome form of his nephew, and the diminutive size of his companion revealed her identity. As soon as Guy perceived his uncle's gig coming along, he tried to escape observation by hurrying down the lane, an action which increased his uncle's displeasure.

What might have passed for a chance meeting had thus the appearance of a clandestine appointment.

"Little minx! Why does not her mother look after her?" he said to himself. "Well, I'll let her know, and she shall hear my mind on the subject, too."

"Straight down Woodham;" he said to the servant who was driving. "I have a call to make there."

Guy reached home before his uncle, who arrived late for dinner, after paying Mrs. Bland a visit that had greatly astonished and disturbed her. It was with some uneasiness that the young man took his place at the table. He had tried hard to persuade himself that it was impossible his uncle could have recognized him that afternoon, but he had not succeeded in dismissing every fear. His uncle's bearing afforded him no sure ground of confidence.

The old man ate his dinner in grim silence, broken only by brief but caustic rejoinders to the few remarks on which Guy ventured. He was obviously in an unamiable mood; but a variety of causes might have conduced to that not infrequent occurrence. Guy endeavoured to behave himself circumspectly, and avoid every reference likely to fan the smouldering flame. He seemed to have succeeded, and it was with rising spirits that he was about to leave the dining room, when a word from his uncle stayed him.

"Have you any engagement for to-morrow morning, Guy?"

"No, sir; I have nothing particular in hand to-morrow."

"Then I will trouble you to ride to Woodham for me the first thing. I want a note carried to Mr. Greenwood, and if you go, you can wait and bring back his answer."

"Certainly, sir. Mr. Greenwood at the bank, I suppose?"

"No; you are mistaken. It is Mr. Greenwood, my solicitor, I wish to see."

The emphasis put on the word solicitor made Guy uncomfortable.

"Very well, sir," he replied.

"I hope it may prove well," said old Stephen, suddenly breaking forth in anger. "I send for my solicitor, sir, because you have made me aware it is necessary I should reconsider my will. After what I have seen this afternoon, I have no alternative. I will not have your cousin's feelings trifled with; I will not have her made to suffer on your account. There are more ways than one of making her the mistress of Wyndham, and mistress of Wyndham I intend that she shall be."

Guy flushed and then paled. This revelation of his uncle's intentions was a shock to him. But he controlled himself, and after waiting for a few moments to see if his uncle had more to say, quietly left the room.

The two breakfasted together the next morning as usual. It was not a pleasant day for a ride. It had been snowing in the night, and a sparse white covering lay on the ground; every now and then the keen north wind would bring a shower of sleet. Neither of the gentlemen, however, remarked upon the weather as they took their breakfast. The squire gave his whole attention to the "Times," and Guy occupied himself with a sporting journal, and with a favourite dog that sat "begging" by his side and shared his meal.

On rising from the table, Stephen Lorraine went to his desk. Guy watched him as he selected a sheet of notepaper and then began to write in his small, neat hand. The servant entering to clear the table, Guy gave orders that his horse should be ready for him in half an hour.

"Ah," said old Stephen, half-turning as he spoke,—"it is rather a rough morning; perhaps you would prefer to have the carriage. You could put it up at Woodham, and wait till Mr. Greenwood was at liberty to return with you. You would have no difficulty in passing the time agreeably with your friends."

There was a sting in the last words for Guy. He coloured angrily as he replied—

"Thank you, sir, I prefer to ride. I shall be back in a little more than an hour, and I can bring you word what time will suit Mr. Greenwood if you like to send the carriage for him."

"Oh, very well," returned his uncle; and he proceeded slowly with his letter-writing, whilst Guy went off to prepare for his ride.

Guy would not have minded the biting wind had his errand been an agreeable one; but as it was, the ride could hardly have been more unpleasant. He stole a glance at the Blands' house as he went down the High Street; but no one was visible at the windows. Hilda, complaining of a headache, was still in bed. She had lain awake, crying and imagining herself the most unhappy of heroines, till long past midnight, and the morning found her weary in mind and body, and convinced that an early death would close her miserable life.

Mr. Greenwood had just arrived at his office, and welcomed Guy genially. He was a little man, with black hair and black "mutton chop" whiskers, small, shrewd, dark eyes, and a brisk, pleasant manner.

"Good morning, Mr. Guy. The New Year begins roughly, does it not? How is the weather at Wyndham? You do not find it too warm to-day, eh?"

"Scarcely," said Guy, who at that moment was by no means inclined to be effusively friendly. "My uncle asked me to bring you this note. He wishes to speak with you on business, I believe; but you will see what he says."

"And how is Mr. Lorraine?" inquired the lawyer, with an air of anxious interest. "How does he bear this severe weather, eh? It is very trying for elderly persons. They tell me that poor old Adam Drake—down the Hundreds, you know—was found dead in his bed this morning."

"Was he? Poor old chap!" said Guy, indifferently. "My uncle is all right, I believe, Mr. Greenwood. The cold does not seem to make any difference to him."

"No? But it may in the long run; he should be careful, indeed he should be careful, Mr. Guy. I was surprised to see him driving in his open gig yesterday. It was not the day for it, indeed."

Guy shrugged his shoulders with some impatience. It was anything but agreeable to him just then to be reminded of the uncertainty of his uncle's life. If he should alter his will and then die without giving him a chance of reinstating himself in his favour!

Mr. Greenwood had opened the note and was reading it. "Hem," he said, "Mr. Lorraine begs me to go out to Wyndham to-day. That is awkward. I happen to be particularly engaged to-day."

"Perhaps uncle could wait till to-morrow," suggested Guy, not without a gleam of hope.

The lawyer shook his head.

"I am afraid not," he said. "He speaks of 'a matter that admits of no delay.' You are sure, by the way, all is right with your uncle? He did not take a chill yesterday?"

"If he did, I have heard nothing of it," said Guy, impatiently. "If you can say at what hour you will be ready, we will send the carriage for you, Mr. Greenwood."

"Thank you," said that gentleman; "let me see."

He paused, stroking his chin meditatively. "Suppose we say four o'clock; I can hardly be ready before that hour."

"Very well," said Guy, "the carriage shall be here at four. Good-day for the present, Mr. Greenwood."

Mr. Greenwood was ready punctually at the hour named, and in due time arrived at Wyndham. Stephen Lorraine was awaiting him, and the two were closeted together until dinner-time, when the lawyer sat down at his client's table.

Guy, who then joined them, could scarcely conceal his restless irritation, and the squire contributed little to the conversation; but Mr. Greenwood's cheerful flow of small talk never failed.

And yet the solicitor, with whom Guy was a favourite, was anything but pleased with the business he had been called upon to effect. Ere leaving the house, he managed to draw Guy aside and say a few words to him.

"Look here, young man, whatever is wrong between you and your uncle, my advice to you is—patch it up as quickly as possible."

"That is more easily said than done," replied Guy, moodily.

"Oh, I don't know. I have known your uncle a good many years now, and he is not bad to deal with, if you only take him the right way."

"You mean if you let him have his own way," returned Guy.

"Well, surely you can humour an old man. I can tell you, Mr. Guy, it is worth your while to do so. I have said all I dare for you; but, but—it lies with you to set matters right."

"But suppose my uncle requires me to do something that I cannot do?" said Guy.

"Well, then, I can only say it is a very great pity. But surely you can find a way out of the difficulty. Depend upon it you make a great mistake if you quarrel with your uncle now. There, I must not say more, but I hope you will so manage things that I may soon be called to repeat my visit with a happier result. Do you understand?"

Guy understood too well for his peace of mind. How could he make things right? He could not and he would not marry his cousin, nor could he bear the thought of giving up Hilda Bland.

Mr. Greenwood passed on to the library to take his leave of Mr. Lorraine, and presently departed from Wyndham, carrying with him a rough draft of the new will his client had desired him to draw up.