CHAPTER XV.

ALDYTH WAKES FROM A DREAM.

ALDYTH did not have the promised talk with her mother on the morrow.

Several days passed, all so full of occupation that Mrs. Stanton had no leisure hour to spare for her eldest daughter.

"When we get into our own house, we shall have more time with each other, darling," her mother would say with a smile and caress, and then drive away with her husband and Gladys to visit friends or inspect houses.

Aldyth and her aunt went about sight-seeing in London with Nelly and Cecil. Aldyth tried hard to win the favour of her younger sister, but for some time with poor success. Nelly's shyness was not to be overcome. When they were out, she kept as much with her brother as possible, and Aldyth thus often found herself her aunt's companion.

Nothing definite had been spoken on the subject, but the Stantons seemed to take it for granted that Aldyth would remain with her mother as long as she was in England. Miss Lorraine's appetite for town entertainments was not easily sated; but when a week had passed, she began to talk of returning to Woodham. Mrs. Stanton, however, begged her to remain with Aldyth till early in the following week, when they would move into the house which had been taken at Bayswater.

On the afternoon of the last day of her stay in town, Miss Lorraine decided that she would like to call on one or two friends, and, rather to Aldyth's surprise, did not invite her niece to accompany her. Aldyth went across to the hotel to find out what her sisters intended to do. She found Nelly by herself, hanging over the fire in the sitting room, and looking far from amiable.

"What, all alone, Nelly?" she said. "Where are the others?"

"Oh, mamma and Gladys have gone shopping. I never knew anything like their shopping; there is no end to it. And papa and Cecil have gone to the hospital to make arrangements for Cecil studying there."

"So! And you are left all alone. Well, I am in the same lonely condition, for auntie has gone off to pay visits, and never so much as asked me if I would like to go with her."

"Oh, I am used to that sort of thing," said Nelly, forlornly. "Mamma never cares to have me with her. I am too ugly and awkward."

"Oh, Nelly! How can you say such things of yourself?" exclaimed Aldyth.

"It is true," said Nelly. "Mamma feels that I am no credit to her, and she is ashamed for me to be seen. Oh, you need not look shocked, Aldyth. You do not know mamma yet."

"I hope you are mistaken in so judging her," said Aldyth, gently. "But now, Nelly, what shall we do, since we are left to ourselves?"

"I don't care," said Nelly, indifferently.

"Would you like to go across to the National Gallery? We seem to have neglected that just because it is so near. There are some of the finest pictures in the world to be seen there. But perhaps you do not care for looking at pictures."

"I care very much," said Nelly, brightening. "I really like pictures more than Gladys, only I do not make such a fuss about them as she does."

So they went to the Gallery, and spent a couple of hours there very pleasantly. Aldyth found that Nelly took a real and intelligent interest in the pictures. Aldyth, who was a devout disciple of Ruskin, had a profound admiration of Turner, and she soon kindled in Nelly a like enthusiasm for his paintings. Together they studied the slight sketches, which give such interesting indications of the gradual development of his genius.

As they talked them over, Nelly grew confidential, and told her sister of her great desire to study art—a desire which would not be quenched by the efforts of all her family to throw cold water upon it.

"I want mamma to let me study at South Kensington," she said; "but she says it is of no use, for I should never do anything worth doing. She is going to look for a school for me as soon as she can find time. I am to go as a weekly boarder. Is not that horrid?"

"Perhaps you will like it better than you expect," said Aldyth. "No doubt there will be a good drawing master."

"Ah, that would be nice," said Nelly. "But all mamma wants is to get me out of the way. You know mamma means to get Gladys married whilst we are over here."

"Nelly!" said Aldyth.

"Ah, you are shocked at my saying so; but it is perfectly true. Mamma is determined that Gladys shall marry well. As for me, I don't know what mamma will do with me. I am afraid no one will ever want to marry me, and mamma will think it so disgraceful to have a daughter an old maid."

Aldyth could not help laughing at the way her sister said this.

"Indeed, Nelly, there is no disgrace in being an 'old maid,' as you call it," she said quickly; "it is far better to remain single than to make an unhappy marriage. And there are many honourable careers open to women. You might be all artist, perhaps."

"Ah, that would be delightful," said Nelly, her eyes kindling; "a great deal better than being married."

When they returned to the hotel, Nelly declared that she had thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon, and Aldyth was glad to feel that it had drawn them closer together. But she herself was far from experiencing perfect content. Day by day, in spite of her efforts to stifle it, a feeling of disappointment was growing stronger within her.

"You do not know mamma yet," Nelly had said. Was it so indeed? Had she yet to learn her mother's true character, and was it so totally different from all that she had conceived it to be? The thought was full of pain. Aldyth tried to put it away from her—tried to persuade herself that she was attaching too much importance to the words of a thoughtless, ill-tempered child; but with all her endeavours, the doubt was not to be dismissed.

And yet, as she watched her beautiful mother and marked her queenly movements, her graceful kindliness, Aldyth found it hard to believe that her charming appearance masked a selfish, worldly spirit; for she saw her mother at her best. Eleanor Stanton was delighted to be again in London; her husband was completely under her sway; there was no one to oppose her will, and she was enjoying herself thoroughly. It was easy for her, as for many another woman, to be charming and lovable as long as her life was what she wished it to be.

It was close upon the dinner hour ere Miss Lorraine returned from her visits.

"You will be surprised when I tell you where I have been," she said as her niece helped her to change her dress—"I have been to Highgate to see Mrs. Glynne."

"Auntie!" exclaimed Aldyth in a tone of surprise.

"Yes, I thought I should like to see Susie again; we were great friends at school, and now I know her son so well, I thought it would be nice to go and see her. And I am glad I went, for she seemed very pleased. I did not see Mr. Glynne, for he is at Woodham. The school reopened last week."

"Yes, I know," said Aldyth.

"She is a sweet woman," said Miss Lorraine, talking as fast as the exigencies of her toilet would permit. "They live in a tiny house; but everything is as neat and as nice as possible. Aldyth, what are you thinking of? Not that cap. And I saw the daughter, a pleasant girl, not pretty, but clever-looking."

"Oh, auntie, I wish you had taken me with you," exclaimed Aldyth.

"Oh, my dear, that would not have done at all," said her aunt, decidedly.

Aldyth coloured, and refrained from inquiring why it would not have done.

It was not without regret that she saw her aunt start for Woodham on the following day.

"It does seem strange that you should go home without me," she said. "If it were not that I am to be with mother, I should be sorry."

"I shall miss you dreadfully," said Miss Lorraine. "Home will seem strange without you. Now mind, you come down, Aldyth, whenever you can. Bring one of your sisters with you, if you like; but be sure to come when you want a little country air."

"Of course I will," said Aldyth. "Remember me to uncle and Guy, and do not forget my message to the Blands. Good-bye."

Then the train glided out of the station, and Aldyth went back to her new home and new life.

"Have you not a letter from your uncle?" Mrs. Stanton inquired of Aldyth one morning, a few days later, as they sat at the breakfast table.

By this time they were settled in the house at Bayswater, and beginning to feel at home there.

Aldyth replied in the affirmative.

"I thought so," said Mrs. Stanton. "I thought I could not be mistaken in the clear, old-fashioned writing, though it is, many years since I have seen it. Does he send me any message?"

"No, he does not," said Aldyth, a little embarrassed by the question.

"Oh, I did not expect it," said Mrs. Stanton with a laugh. "I know he is no friend to me. How is the poor old man?"

"He does not say how he is," replied Aldyth. "He tells me about the horses and dogs, and the meet last week at Wood Corner."

"Do you ever hunt?" asked Gladys, eagerly.

"No," said Aldyth; "Guy has often tried to persuade aunt to let me, but she does not like the idea of a lady's hunting. Kitty Bland has ridden after the hounds once or twice, but her mother is very nervous about it."

"I would not mind what your aunt thinks," said Gladys, coolly; "I would go if I were you, Aldyth."

"My dear Gladys," said Mrs. Stanton, reprovingly, "I am glad that Aldyth has a better notion than you of what is becoming conduct in a young lady towards her seniors."

Gladys shrugged her shoulders and made a grimace.

"Does not your cousin Guy write to you, Aldyth?" asked Mrs. Stanton, in so meaning a tone that it brought a quick flush to the girl's cheek.

"Oh dear no," she said, hurriedly, "that is the last thing Guy would think of doing. He will never write to any one unless he is obliged."

"Indeed," said Mrs. Stanton, and let the subject drop. She watched her daughter intently for a few seconds. She had already questioned Miss Lorraine pretty closely as to the relations subsisting between Aldyth and her cousin, and had drawn her own conclusions from that lady's reluctant replies.

Some time later, as Aldyth sat writing a letter in the breakfast room, her mother entered, her wool work in her hand, and settled herself in an easy-chair by the fire, evidently intending to remain there.

"How cold it is!" she said, holding out her hands towards the blaze. "I have sent Gladys to take a walk in the park with her father. He does not like walking alone, and it is better he should have company, for I am still anxious about him. To tell you the truth, Aldyth, he had a slight stroke of paralysis before he left Australia, and that, you know, is very alarming."

"Yes, indeed," said Aldyth, looking startled; "I had no idea his illness was so serious as that."

"It was, and after that, you know, one cannot tell what may happen," said Mrs. Stanton, in an easy, comfortable tone as she warmed her hands; "I am sure no one knows what anxiety I have gone through. He has had so much worry in his business; the doctor insisted on his giving up everything and coming away at once. He is in partnership with his brother; but they don't work well together, somehow. But I must not talk to you now, you are busy."

"Oh no; this letter is of no consequence," said Aldyth, laying down her pen. "I am only too happy to listen to you, mother—mamma, I mean."

She rose from her place at the table, and took a seat opposite to her mother.

"Thank you, dear," said Mrs. Stanton, sweetly, "that is right. Now we can have a nice cosy talk; but we will not discuss my troubles. Tell me about your life at Woodham, my dear child."

"I think you have heard all that there is to tell," said Aldyth; "you know it is a very quiet place."

"Detestably quiet," said Mrs. Stanton; "I never could bear Woodham. I always disliked it when as a girl I used to go over there from Colchester, and my great dread when I became engaged to your father was that he would want we to live at Woodham. Well, I have escaped that, have I not? Do you often go to Wyndham?"

"Almost every week," said Aldyth. "Uncle always complains if I let a week pass without his seeing me."

"Ah, you are a great favourite with your uncle; I am very glad of that," said her mother, fervently. "Now tell me about your cousin—what sort of a man is he?"

"He is tall," said Aldyth, with a sparkle of fun in her eyes, "and he has broad shoulders, and he is very strong. His hair is light, and his face ruddy; his eyes, I think, are blue; he has good features, and many people consider him good-looking. He rides well, is a bold hunter, a crack shot, and altogether a splendid specimen of a country gentleman."

"Oh, my dear! I don't want all these details," said her mother. "Tell me, do you like him? Are you great friends?"

"Yes, we are good friends," said Aldyth, carelessly; "you see, I have known him all my life; he is almost a brother to me."

"Now, that is nonsense, Aldyth," said Mrs. Stanton, quickly; "cousins cannot be brothers, and, after all, he is only your second cousin. What I want to know—and I think I as your mother have a right to ask—is whether he has ever given you cause to suppose that he wishes to marry you?"

Aldyth's farce grew crimson. She was silent. It was a curious proof of the subtle change that had taken place in her feelings with regard to her mother that whereas at the time of Guy's proposal, she had longed to tell it all to her mother. Now that the subject was thus introduced, she shrank from its discussion, and would gladly have evaded it altogether.

"Surely you can tell me, dearest," said her mother, seeing her hesitation. "Who can care for your welfare as I do? If your happiness is bound up with your cousin's, tell me so."

There was something so ludicrous to Aldyth in the idea suggested by her mother's words, that she could not help laughing.

"Oh, mamma, it is not so, I assure you," she said. "I should never care for Guy in that way. He did ask me to marry him a little while ago, but he quite understands now that it can never be."

"But why?" asked Mrs. Stanton, a look of vexation clouding her brow. "My dear Aldyth, I do hope you have not been misled by the foolish, romantic notions some girls have about love. How could you be so blind to your own interests as to refuse your cousin? Do you forget that he is the heir of Wyndham?"

"I do not see what that has to do with it, mamma," said Aldyth. "You would not have me marry a man whom I cannot truly love?"

"But you say that you like him, that you are good friends," persisted Mrs. Stanton; "what more would you have? What is this love you dream of? It is all very well in novels and poems, but in real life, one has to be guided by practical considerations. Does not your uncle desire this marriage?"

"Yes, he would like it," said Aldyth, in a low, pained tone.

"Then, my dear, how can you be so foolish? Do you not know how ready your uncle is to take offence? If you cross his will, you may lose your inheritance, as your poor father did. Stephen Lorraine has never said what were his intentions concerning you, but I always thought that he meant you should share Guy's fortune. Oh, dear! I would not have had you act so foolishly for the world; but perhaps it is not yet too late to set things right."

"You do not understand me, mamma," said Aldyth. "I am sorry to displease you, but I can never, never marry Guy. It would be most wrong of me to do so, feeling as I do."

"Then there is some one else you care for," said Mrs. Stanton, sharply.

Aldyth flushed. "You are mistaken," she said, coldly, "there is no one else; but I cannot see that makes any difference."

"Well, of all foolish, unpractical girls, you are the worst I could ever imagine!" said Mrs. Stanton, indignantly. "Why, most girls would jump at such an offer."

But Aldyth had risen, and was hurrying from the room. She ran up stairs with hot tears in her eyes, and a choking sensation in her throat. She was indignant with her mother for uttering such words.

It was a sore wound to find that the mother whom unknown she had loved devotedly all her life was capable of giving her such low, worldly counsel. It was no longer possible to hide from herself the keen disappointment she was suffering. The truth was not to be disguised.

Her mother, beautiful, charming, gracious as she appeared, was not the mother of whom she had dreamed through long years. The hopes she had built on her home-coming were all delusive. The perfect sympathy, the mutual confidence and help to which she had looked forward, were not to be. As she recognized this fact, certain words of Christina Rossetti's kept repeating themselves in Aldyth's mind—

"The hope I dreamed of was a dream, Was but a dream; and now I wake Exceeding comfortless, and worn, and old, For a dream's sake."

Were other things dreams too? Was she indeed foolishly, romantic, as her mother had said? Were her ideals mistaken? The glorious visions of the poets, were they illusive? The grand possibilities that life had seemed to her to hold, as she studied the inspiring utterances of the great teachers of mankind, were they too phantasmal? Was there indeed no poetry in life, and would she be wiser if she consented to follow the dictates of vulgar, worldly prudence?

In the heart-sickness caused by the shock of her first real disappointment, Aldyth questioned everything. What was the good of life if it were so low and sordid, so barren of all that is truly noble and elevating? But presently, healthier feelings returned to her.

She had taken refuge in her room, and was sitting gazing dully before her, when a ray of wintry sunshine entering through the window gleamed on a tiny bunch of violets which Nelly had placed on her dressing-table. Aldyth caught them up, and their beauty and sweetness comforted her. After all, the world was not the dreary place she had been imagining it.

God was in the world, God, working ever for righteousness and purity and loveliness, and God was love. Did not the poet Browning say that the grand lesson of life was to learn love—what love had been, what love might be?

"I believe in love and God," said Aldyth to herself; "and, God helping me, I will be true to my ideal of what my life should be. I will not love my mother less because she is not just what I had fancied she would be. Is not a certain amount of forbearance necessary in every human relationship? I will strive to be to my mother all that a daughter should be, and perhaps in time she will come to think as I do about things. I hope she did not see how impatient and angry I felt just now."

And Aldyth dried her eyes, and seeing that the sunshine looked inviting, put on her hat and jacket and set off to take her usual remedy for depression—a good walk.