CHAPTER XIII.

SORROW AND JOY.

ON the afternoon of New Year's Day, Aldyth, coming down the London Road, met Kitty Bland and Gwendolen, then at home for her holidays, on their way to the river, carrying their skates.

"Oh, Aldyth, we were thinking of calling for you," said Kitty. "Charlie brings us word that the ice is splendid, so we are going to try it. Do come with us!"

"Oh, do," implored Gwen. "It will be so jolly to have you with us."

Aldyth hesitated. The sleet had long ceased, and the sun was making attempts to break forth. The prospect of skimming over the ice was very tempting.

"I was going to see Hilda," she said. "How is it she is not with you?"

"Oh, Hilda is good for nothing," replied Kitty. "She will not stir out to-day."

"Do you mean that she is ill?" asked Aldyth.

"Well, no, not exactly—she has a headache," said Kitty.

Gwen moved on a few paces; it was not pleasant to stand in the keen wind.

"The fact is, Aldyth," said Kitty, hurriedly, in lower tones, "Hilda has been crying till she is worn out. Your uncle came to see mother yesterday afternoon, and made a grand commotion. I never saw mother so upset. You know she does not often get put out, but when she is angry, she can be very warm, and I can tell you mother was angry with Hilda last evening."

"With Hilda!" said Aldyth, in surprise. "Why, what has Hilda done?"

"Oh, do not ask me," said Kitty; "you had better hear the story from her own lips. I must say I am disgusted with Hilda. Do try, Aldyth, to put a little common sense into her, if you see her. But won't you get your skates and come with us?"

"I think not, thank you," said Aldyth. "I had better go to Hilda, if she is in trouble. I suppose she would like to see me?"

"Of course she would," said Kitty; "she will get some sympathy perhaps from you. I am afraid I have not given her much. She says I cannot understand her, and really she is right."

In spite of a warm protest from Gwen, Aldyth went on her way, full of wonder as to what had occurred to disturb Mrs. Bland and make Hilda unhappy.

Mrs. Bland was engaged with visitors, so Aldyth went at once to her friend's room.

Hilda had risen by this time, but she wore her dressing-gown, which was a very becoming one of pale blue, so that she looked charmingly invalidish as she sat in her easy-chair by the fire. It would not be correct to say that she looked ill. Her face was not more colourless than it always was; but she leaned back in her chair with a listless, languid air, and her expression was melancholy in the extreme, whilst her reddened eyelids testified to past weeping. She uttered a faint exclamation of pleasure as her friend entered the room.

"Oh, I am glad to see you," she said; "how good of you to come!"

"Why, Hilda dear, what is the matter?" Aldyth asked. "I met Kitty, and she gave me a most bewildering account of you. Do tell me what it is all about."

"Oh, Aldyth, I am the most miserable girl in the world!" Hilda exclaimed, and again burst into tears.

"But why?" asked Aldyth, surprised and grieved. "Why do you speak so of yourself?"

"Because it is true," sobbed Hilda. "Oh, Aldyth, you do not know how unhappy I am. And four days ago I was so happy! I little thought the New Year was going to bring me such misery."

[Illustration]

"But what is it, Hilda?" asked her friend. "Do tell me!"

Then, as Hilda continued to sob and utter incoherent ejaculations, Aldyth added, "Has it not something to do with Guy?"

"Yes, Aldyth; I thought you must guess it," replied Hilda, brokenly; "that you must see how he cared for me; though I did not know myself, for certain, till last Thursday. He came to call after the party, you know, and mother and Kitty had gone to Chelmsford, and I was alone, practising, and he told me that he could never care for any one but me, and he asked me to promise to marry him. But we were not to tell any one about it at present."

A startled exclamation broke from Aldyth.

"Ah, you think it was wrong!" said Hilda.

"I think it very wrong of Guy," said Aldyth, warmly; "I call it most dishonourable conduct—if I understand aright that he asked you to engage yourself to him without seeking your mother's consent."

"We only meant to keep it to ourselves for a little while," said Hilda. "Guy knew his uncle would be so angry; but we were most unfortunate. Guy asked me to meet him at Wood Corner yesterday afternoon, and unluckily Mr. Lorraine drove to the farm just at that time and saw us together. Ah, you are shocked at me, Aldyth."

"I really am surprised," Aldyth felt obliged to say; "I wonder you could do such a thing, Hilda."

"Oh, do not you find fault with me, please!" said Hilda, beseechingly. "If you only knew what I have gone through! Mr. Lorraine came here in such a rage, and told mother she did not look after her daughters properly. You should have seen how angry mother was. She told me I had no self-respect, that my deceit was detestable, that I had disgraced her, and, what pains me most, she will not hear of my being engaged to Guy. Mr. Lorraine told mother he meant to disinherit his nephew if he did not give me up, and mother declares she will never let me marry him unless his uncle gives his consent. And I know he never will do that. Oh, I feel as if my heart would break!"

Aldyth listened to her friend's confidence with mingled feelings. She was sorry for Hilda, but it was a shock to her friendship to discover that she could be so easily led into crooked conduct. Aldyth could feel some sympathy with Mrs. Bland in her indignation at the revelation of her daughter's duplicity. It was with a curious sensation, too, that she heard of Guy's profession of attachment to Hilda. What would be the effect upon her friend, she wondered, if she told her how recently Guy had asked her, Aldyth, to be his wife? But she had not the heart to inflict such a blow on Hilda.

After a minute she said, in a rallying tone—

"Nonsense, Hilda; hearts do not break so easily, and I am sure I would never break my heart for such a one as Guy."

"Aldyth," said Hilda, reproachfully, "why do you always speak so slightingly of your cousin? You seem unable to appreciate him."

It was impossible for Aldyth to resist laughing.

"Do I?" she said. "Well, truly, at the present moment I am vexed with Guy. I think he has behaved very badly to you, Hilda. A man has no right to ask a girl to engage herself to him without the knowledge of her friends."

"But he loves me," murmured Hilda. "It was because he loved me so. You do not know what love is, Aldyth."

"I am very glad I do not, if that is the kind of thing it does," said Aldyth, stoutly. "But I do not believe in the saying that all things are fair in love. A true and noble love, it seems to me, should make man or woman act worthily."

"Now, I will not have Guy found fault with," said Hilda. "He is dear to me, if not to you. Such a strong, brave fellow as he is!"

"Strong?" repeated Aldyth. "Ah, physically you mean; for although he is my cousin, and I have an affection for him, I cannot say that I think Guy is at all a strong character."

"Aldyth, it is too bad of you! I will not hear you!" protested Hilda, showing a disposition to relapse into tears. "You are not fair to your cousin."

"I hope I am not unfair to him," said Aldyth, thoughtfully. "I do not deny that he has good qualities. He is very kind-hearted and generous; and he is good-tempered too. I am often surprised to see how much he will put up with from uncle. The servants at the Hall are very fond of him. Hilda, dear, forgive me if I have vexed you; but I do wish you would try to look at this matter sensibly."

Hilda put up her hand to check Aldyth's words.

"It is of no use speaking so," she said. "You do not understand me; you do not know how deep my feelings are. Listen to me. I shall never cease to love Guy: and if my love is disappointed, I shall die. Now do not smile like that, Aldyth, for I shall. My father's sister died of consumption, and I shall go into a decline too, if I am made so unhappy. Indeed, I should not wish to live!"

All this was a great strain upon Aldyth's power of sympathy. She felt for her friend; but she could not avoid some secret amusement at the idea that it was Guy who had inspired such desperate feelings.

Hilda sank back into her chair, saying to herself, with a new pang of disappointment, that Aldyth understood her no better than Kitty.

"Why do you not find something to do, Hilda?" asked Aldyth, as she rose to take her departure. "It is a pity to sit there brooding over what has happened. Does your head ache too much for reading?"

"Oh, I cannot read!" said Hilda, wearily. "As soon as I begin, my thoughts fly off in one direction. Aldyth, mother is very unkind."

"I cannot think so," said Aldyth, loyally; "I cannot imagine Mrs. Bland unkind. She may seem so to you; but, depend on it, she has your real good at heart."

"I hate to hear about my 'real good!'" said Hilda, impatiently. "What good can life have for me if I am separated from Guy?"

It was vain to argue with her. Aldyth kissed her, begged her not to imagine herself more unhappy than she was, but to hope that the future might brighten; and then left her, with an uneasy sense that she had failed fully to meet Hilda's expectations in the matter of sympathy.

"I certainly do not understand what love is," she said to herself; "it may well be called blind, for Hilda can perceive none of Guy's faults. It has transformed him into a hero. Oh, dear! I shall never be able to love in that fashion."

It was too late to join the skaters. Aldyth did a little shopping in the High Street, and then turned homewards. As she entered the house, a letter lay on the hall table awaiting her. Aldyth recognized with delight the thin foreign envelope addressed by her mother's hand. She went into the dining room, and sat down to read her letter. She had not read far ere her heart gave a wild bound, and her face grew pale with sudden vivid emotion. The words which caused it were these:—

"Our long-talked-of visit to England is at last to be realized. We have arrived at a decision rather rapidly, and sail in a week's time, so that we shall be actually on our way home when you receive this. Mr. Stanton's health has of late caused me anxiety, but we hope the voyage will set him up. It is on his account that we start with so little preparation. We propose taking a furnished house in London as soon as we arrive, and shall probably remain at home for two years. I cannot tell you, my dearest child, how I look forward to our meeting, so long-deferred. You must come to us as soon as we arrive in London. We are all coming. Cecil is to study medicine at one of the hospitals. Your sisters are counting on seeing you at last."

There was much more in the letter, which Aldyth read again and again, and yet seemed unable fully to grasp. All her being was thrilled with a shock of joy. Could it be true that her mother—her beautiful mother—the mother she had missed and yearned for through so many years—was coming home to her at last? There was awe mingling with her joy. She was glad beyond measure to think of her mother's return, and yet she was half afraid of her happiness. The unknown brother, and sisters too—she was to meet them at last. Was it any wonder that Aldyth's heart throbbed with a tumultuous emotion that had fully as much pain in it as pleasure? She was glad, and yet the tears would come. Faster and faster they came, till they rained down her cheeks.

"Why, Aldyth, my dear child! What is the matter?" cried Miss Lorraine, coming in briskly from the cold.

"Oh, auntie, such news!" exclaimed Aldyth, holding out the letter. "Mother is coming; she is on her way now."

"You don't mean it? Really coming at last! Well, it is startling, certainly; but I would not cry about it," said Miss Lorraine.

She laid her bag and her muff deliberately on the table, and took the letter from the girl. Any one less excited than Aldyth would have seen that the news did not give her aunt unmixed satisfaction.

"So," she said presently, "they are coming at last, and you will have your heart's desire, Aldyth; though no one would think it, to see you crying like that."

"Oh, aunt, I cried because I was so glad," said Aldyth, hastily drying her eyes. "You cannot think what it is—after so many years, to know that my mother is coming to me."

"I suppose not," said Miss Lorraine, drily. "Well, child, I am glad that you are so pleased."

But as she spoke her face had a wistful, pained expression. Aldyth, since her babyhood, had been her care, and the feelings of a mother had grown up in her heart towards the child she had cherished. Could Eleanor Stanton, simply because she had given her birth, be so much more to Aldyth than the aunt who had comforted her childish sorrows and nursed her through all her childish ailments? Would she be as likely to understand the girl? Miss Lorraine felt aggrieved by the emotion Aldyth displayed, even whilst she told herself it was wrong and unreasonable to feel so.

But Aldyth, thrilled and excited, had no thoughts to spare for her aunt, and failed to see that she was hurt.

And Miss Lorraine was thankful that for once her niece was so unobservant.