CHAPTER XVII.

HILDA IS HAPPY.

THREE days had passed since Aldyth received Hilda's letter. Her aunt had sent her a full account of what had happened, and a few curt, but not unkind, words from her uncle had assured her that there was no need for her to feel any anxiety on his account.

It was about five o'clock on a bright afternoon, and Aldyth, having had occasion to go to a shop there, was walking in Oxford Street. She was near Regent Circus when, to her great astonishment, she perceived her grand-uncle a few yards in front of her, stepping cautiously from an omnibus. He did not perceive her, and she looked at him for a moment or two, hardly able to believe her eyes. Her uncle, who professed to dislike London so much, and had not been known to visit it for years!

Indeed, it was a great event for him at any time to go beyond twenty miles of his home. But there he was, in his old velveteen coat, his white hat, his drab gaiters, just as Aldyth was accustomed to see him at Woodham, but looking strangely out of place on the London pavement. She hurriedly made her way to his side.

"Uncle! I little expected to see you in Oxford Street."

He turned, surprised and pleased, yet his manner betrayed some discomposure.

"Ah, Aldyth, is it you? Well, it is a happy chance that we should meet thus. Yes, you may well be surprised to see me here; but business brought me to town. I came up on business."

Aldyth could not remember that her uncle had ever come up to London on business before. He was wont to manage all his business through the agency of Mr. Ralph Greenwood.

"Were you coming to see me, uncle?" she asked.

"Well, no, I was not," he answered, still with a shade of embarrassment in his manner; "I have finished my business, and I thought I would take a little look about town before going home by the evening train."

"Then you will come and see mamma?" said Aldyth, eagerly. "She will be so pleased to see you."

The old man did not at once reply. He only smiled a peculiar, grim smile, which said, as plainly as words could utter it, "But I should not be pleased to see her."

"Do you really think she would be pleased?" he asked sarcastically, after a few moments. "Suppose she had some of her fashionable friends with her, would she be delighted, do you think, to see a queer, old-fashioned countryman like me come into her fine drawing room?"

"I do not believe that would make any difference, uncle," Aldyth said.

He laughed sceptically.

"Ah, my dear, you must excuse me," he said; "I knew your mother before you were born."

Aldyth's cheeks were burning. She wished he would not speak of her mother in that contemptuous tone.

"I am glad I happened to meet you," she said, "since otherwise I should not have seen you at all. Shall we go into the Park and sit down for a little while? It is quite warm, and I want to have a talk with you."

He assented with evident pleasure. In a few minutes they were at the Marble Arch, and entering the Park found a quiet seat under some trees.

"Aldyth," said her uncle suddenly, "you will be good enough not to mention to your mother that you have seen me to-day; and do not name it when you are writing to Woodham. I do not wish my coming up to town to be talked about there."

Aldyth promised; but she could not but wonder that her uncle should think it possible to keep people at Woodham from knowing that he had made a journey to town.

Presently she expressed her thankfulness for his recent escape from danger.

"Yes," he said, thoughtfully, "it was a narrow escape,—a narrow escape indeed. And Guy acted like a hero. He saved my life at the risk of his own; there's no denying that. How he hung on to that brute of a horse I can't tell. His wrists feel the strain yet."

"Oh, uncle, I hope you do not drive that animal still," Aldyth said.

"Well, no, I suppose I shall have to give it up; he's not safe in the shafts. Guy can ride him. Guy is a good rider. Sometimes I think that perhaps I have been too hard on him; he is a good fellow, is Guy. I did hope I should have seen you married to him, Aldyth; but I suppose it cannot be."

"No, uncle, it can never be," Aldyth said.

"I had set my heart on it," he continued, sadly, not angrily; "but you young people have a way of thwarting all my plans. You must have your own way, however things go. I thought you cared for Wyndham; I thought you would have taken a pride in the old place."

"I do love Wyndham," Aldyth said.

"Yes, but you do not care to live there—at least, not as Guy's wife. Aldyth, tell me, you would not be one to pull down and alter the old place, if it were in your power to retain it as it is?"

"Certainly not," said Aldyth, wondering at the question; "I am not one to desire change. I like things to be as they have always been."

"Ah, yes," he said, musingly. "Well, there is no saying how things will be. Perhaps some other girl will be the mistress of Wyndham. Would you mind if it were so, Aldyth?"

"Why, no, uncle," said Aldyth, "I assure you, I have never thought of such a thing as being the mistress of Wyndham. Guy and I are really not at all suited to each other."

"Yes, but there are other ways," he said. There was a pause of some minutes, and then he asked, abruptly, "Are you and Hilda Bland as good friends as ever, Aldyth?"

"Oh, yes, uncle, indeed we are."

"Does she write to you?"

"Yes."

"Ah, well," he said, and his voice quavered as he spoke, "there is no saying how things will be at the last. I change my plans, and then I change them again. Sometimes I think I am getting old and weak, and do not know my own mind. But I mean it for the best. However things are, I mean it for the best. I suppose I have a right to do as I like with my own? They'll find fault with me, no doubt, when I'm gone; but I mean it for the best."

His voice had dropped, and as he rambled on thus it seemed to Aldyth that he had forgotten where he was and that she was by his side. She had fancied him unchanged when first she saw him; but now it seemed to her that there was a change in him, though it was one not easy to define.

She laid her hand on his, and he looked round with a startled air, but recovering himself slowly, he said, "I don't know why I should talk about going. I am not so very old. Several of my ancestors lived to be ninety, and why should not I? I have always lived temperately. Why should not I see ninety, please God?"

"I trust you will, uncle," Aldyth said, gently; "but now, at what time does your train leave for Woodham?"

"Eh? The time; half-past six, to be sure. What's the time now? Oh, I don't trust any of your London clocks." And he pulled out the huge gold repeater familiar to Aldyth from her childhood. "Ah, I must leave you, child. I am glad we met. When are you coming to Woodham again? You do not look so well as when you left us. Tell me, are you happy with your mother and sisters? Do they treat you properly?"

"Yes, indeed they are very kind to me; I have nothing to complain of," Aldyth said, but nevertheless there was a yearning in her heart for Woodham and its peaceful, pleasant ways.

"Well, if they do treat you badly, you know where to come," her uncle said.

As they walked through the Park to the nearest entrance, many a passer-by looked curiously at the quaint old squire and the tall, graceful girl by his side, whilst he on his part bestowed a fierce scrutiny and more or less unflattering comments on every person or equipage that met his gaze. When Aldyth had seen her uncle into a cab for Liverpool Street, she hurried homewards, and reached the house barely in time to change her dress and appear at the dinner-table as usual.

Her mind was full of her uncle during the evening, and she found it difficult to avoid mentioning him.

A few days later, Aldyth received a second letter from Hilda, the contents of which gave her both surprise and pleasure.

"Oh, Aldyth," Hilda wrote, "you will hardly believe the good news I have to tell you. I can hardly believe it myself, though it makes me so happy—I cannot tell you how happy I am. But I must explain. On Saturday mother had a most polite note from Mr. Lorraine, begging her to come on Monday with her two daughters to spend the day at Wyndham. The carriage should be sent for us at any hour that would suit our convenience. You may imagine how surprised we were, for Mr. Lorraine had been barely civil to us since the day he called here and behaved so rude, and I do not think mother had forgiven him for telling her she did not look after her daughters properly.

"However, I persuaded mother it was her duty to forget that now, and Kitty wanted to see the horses at Wyndham, and I—Ah, I need not tell you how I felt about it! Anyhow, mother accepted the invitation, and about noon we started for Wyndham.

"The dear old man—yes, I can call him dear now—received us with charming courtesy. He had arranged that Guy should take me and Kitty for a ride in the afternoon; was it not good of him? You can fancy how delighted Kitty was, nor was I less so; and as for Guy, I never saw him in such spirits. Kitty rode Pansy, and the lovely creature was so tricksy. She does not get exercise enough now you are away.

"But now for the most wonderful item of my news. It was easy to see that the squire was in a very good humour with Guy. Well, whilst we were riding, Mr. Lorraine had a long talk with mother, and told her he had decided to let Guy take his own way with regard to his marriage, and if he still wished to marry me, he was free to do so.

"And to make a short story of it, Aldyth, we are now engaged, and in a day or two, all Woodham will know it. But, of course, you must be the first friend to hear of it; I know how glad you will be. You can sympathize with me in my happiness as no one else can. Oh, I am happy. I can say with Juliet—

"My true love is grown to such excess, I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth."

"I wonder what people will say when they hear of my engagement? It will be a surprise, for it has always been said that you would marry your cousin. But, talking of gossip, what do you think is Miss Rudkin's latest piece of news? She declares that your uncle went to London by the first train on Wednesday morning, and that he drove all the way to Wickham, and took the train there, in order that people should not know that he went! Did you ever hear anything so absurd? I suppose you have not seen him in town?"

There was much more in the letter, which Aldyth read several times. She was delighted to hear of Hilda's happiness, and inclined to esteem Guy more highly than she had ever done before. It never occurred to her that she had any cause to deplore the engagement, as likely to be detrimental to her own prospects. Aldyth was not wont to concern herself greatly about her future, and she had never felt anxious to know her uncle's intentions with respect to his property. A healthy, happy girlhood has no temptation to be greedy after wealth. It seemed to her a fortunate circumstance that her uncle's horse had run away, since Guy's gallant conduct had so softened the old man's feelings as to make him for once renounce a cherished wish.

And so people had said that she would marry Guy! It was not surprising, but it vexed her to think of it. Had Mr. Glynne heard it said? The colour deepened in her cheeks as she asked herself the question. Well, if so, he would now know that it was a mistake. Aldyth was glad to think this; she did not like the idea of his supposing that she would be willing to marry Guy.

Hilda's letter had put Aldyth into excellent spirits. But when she hastened to share the news with her mother and sister, the brightness of her mood was checked. Mrs. Stanton heard it with feelings that were beyond control.

"You can pretend to be pleased at this, Aldyth?" she asked, in a tragic tone.

"There is no pretence about it, mamma. I am unfeignedly glad that Hilda is to marry Guy. I used to doubt if he were good enough for her; but I think better of him now."

"You ought to be ashamed to talk so!" cried her mother, in tones sharp and high. "I have no patience with you. To think that you might have been the mistress of Wyndham! You should bewail your folly instead of rejoicing. One would think you had no sense."

Aldyth stood silent; but it was not without a strong effort that she kept herself from uttering hot, indignant words.

"Now you have crossed his wish, I dare say your uncle will not leave you a penny," continued Mrs. Stanton. "You might, for the sake of us all, have played your cards better than that. I hope you will not infect Gladys with your stupidly romantic notions."

Here the flow of Mrs. Stanton's eloquence ceased abruptly, for Aldyth turned without a word and quitted the room.

"You need not have dragged my name into the discussion, mamma," said Gladys, with scorn in her tones. "You might know that I belong to another order of being, and could never act like Aldyth."

"I hope not, indeed," said Mrs. Stanton, devoutly. "I trust you have more wisdom."

"I don't know about that," said Gladys; "though the Bible does say that 'the children of this world are in their generation wiser than the children of light.' You and I belong this world, mamma. I rather fancy Aldyth must be one of the 'children of light.'"

"What do you mean by speaking in that absurd way? It is not like you, Gladys."

Aldyth had hurried from her mother's presence that she might not be over-mastered by an impulse to relieve her irritated feeling by quick, passionate words. She had a great dread—born of the sacred idea of motherhood she had ever cherished—of being driven to utter bitter, unbecoming words to her mother. It was no uncommon thing for Gladys to address her mother disrespectfully. Angry words sometimes passed between them, though they were good friends as a rule. But if Aldyth ever had a scene with her mother, she knew that the thought of it would leave an indelible stain upon her consciousness, and turn to bitterest irony the hopes of past years.

Mrs. Stanton did not again refer to Guy's engagement; but she treated Aldyth with marked coldness during the next few days. But, as if to atone for her mother's unkindness, Gladys' manner towards her sister was more affectionate than usual. It was she who insisted that Aldyth should accompany them to the Horticultural Gardens on Saturday afternoon. Aldyth consented with some reluctance, for she would have preferred to spend the time with Nelly, as usual. But she could hardly regret that she had come when they reached the gardens, which were looking their loveliest in the first fresh beauty of the spring.

Mr. and Mrs. Stanton seated themselves under the trees to listen to the band, but the girls preferred to move about, admiring the flowers and observing the well-dressed crowd. Some of the ladies were so fair and so charmingly dressed that they seemed to rival the flowers in beauty. Aldyth did not wonder that many eyes were directed towards her sister; she saw no one prettier than Gladys in her gown of palest blue and large white hat. But attractive as was the appearance of Gladys, Aldyth did not suffer total eclipse as she walked by her side. Several persons inquired the name of the tall girl who was Miss Stanton's companion, and decided that though she might not be called beautiful, there was something very interesting about her.

Aldyth went so little into society that she did not expect to meet any one she knew. Gladys stopped now and then to chat with acquaintances, and was careful to introduce her sister; but Aldyth felt herself amidst strangers, till suddenly, as she stood on the outskirt of a little group, a gentleman paused before her, bowing, and saying, in tones of pleasurable surprise—

"Miss Lorraine! This is an unexpected pleasure. Somehow one seems to forget that it is possible for Woodham people to come to London."

It was Captain Walker.

Aldyth greeted him with pleasure, and they entered at once into an enjoyable chat over Woodham affairs. He had not heard of Guy's engagement, and the news seemed greatly to please him. Aldyth was amused at the warmth with which he expressed himself on the subject.

Presently Aldyth introduced him to Gladys, and a little later to her mother, who, deciding at once that the young man had a distinguished appearance, received him most graciously. Captain Walker remained with them as long as they stayed in the gardens. As he saw them into their carriage, Mrs. Stanton informed him that they were always "at home" on Sunday evenings, and begged that he would give them the pleasure of his company on the following evening.

Aldyth had always liked Captain Walker, and it was a pleasure to her to see an old friend who knew all about Woodham and her life there. She was sorry that her mother had invited him for Sunday evening; for ever since her coming to London, she had made it a rule not to join the party gathered in the drawing room on that evening. The Lord's day was sacred and precious to Aldyth. She liked to feel that it was different from every other day. It was no hardship, but a pleasure to her, when at Woodham, to attend both services at the church, and to spend the afternoon with her class in the Sunday school.

But Sunday observances were deemed irksome in her mother's home. In her Australian life, Mrs. Stanton had forsaken the religious habits of earlier days. She had learned to laugh at the old-fashioned Sabbath of her childhood, and she considered that she had sufficiently recognized the sacred character of the day if she attended a short service in the forenoon. That over, the rest of the day might be given to pleasure and self-indulgence.

Aldyth could see little difference between Sundays and other days in her new home, but she could not bear so to waste the day she found so helpful if rightly spent. She had the courage to avow her convictions on the subject, and to make a point of attending an evening service. Mrs. Stanton laughed at her Puritanical notions, but left her free to do as she liked. Nor did she raise any objection when Nelly began to accompany her sister. Mrs. Stanton found her youngest daughter not easy to manage; she was apt to get cross and sulky if anything put her out, so that her absence when visitors were expected was rather a relief than otherwise.

Aldyth thought it probable that she would be urged to remain at home on the following evening, but, rather to her surprise, no notice was taken of the fact that Captain Walker was her friend. She went to church as usual, and afterwards remained quietly in her room till the visitors had departed. Coming down stairs then, she found her mother and Gladys in high good humour.

"It was a pity you took yourself off," Gladys said. "We have had a delightful evening. Captain Walker asked where you were."

"You never told me, Aldyth, that he was nephew to Sir Richard Courtenay," said Mrs. Stanton in a tone of reproof; "for aught I knew he might have been just anybody."

"I had forgotten it, mamma," said Aldyth. "Now you mention it, I remember hearing Guy say that he was related to Sir Richard Courtenay."

"You should remember such things," said Mrs. Stanton, frowning. "Why, Mrs. Gibson tells me it is not at all unlikely that the baronetcy may fall to him."

"Well, I never heard that," said Aldyth.

"Whatever he may be in the future, he is very nice now," said Gladys. "He understands music perfectly. He says my voice reminds him of Antoinette Sterling. He is going to bring his violin with him when next he comes."

It was not long ere the captain repeated his visit. Aldyth was at home, and, much to his satisfaction, she accompanied his violin on the pianoforte. As they played one favourite piece after another, it seemed like a return of the old days at Wyndham. But Aldyth was careful that Gladys should not feel herself excluded from the evening's entertainment. It was found that her voice went charmingly with the violin, and she was persuaded to sing several times. But however the captain might applaud, a quick ear would have detected that Gladys' musical performance lacked the accuracy and finish of Aldyth's.

It was a difference akin to that which distinguished the characters of the two girls. Aldyth had studied music with the thoroughness which marked her pursuit of every kind of knowledge; in her desire after perfection, she had spared herself no pains, shrunk from no sacrifice of time and pleasure, with the result that she had attained a beautiful touch, and played with rare power and expression. Gladys had studied in a superficial, half-hearted fashion, wishful only to acquire a certain effectiveness. It followed in consequence that Captain Walker, although he had likened her voice to that of Antoinette Sterling, was perfectly aware that her singing was very faulty, and her choice of songs poor.

"Captain Walker," said Aldyth, leaning back from the piano to address him when they had just finished a brilliant fantasia, in which he had played his part with great skill, "I wish you would come to Whitechapel some evening and play to my factory girls."

"To Whitechapel!" he repeated, with an air of surprise.

"My dear Aldyth!" exclaimed Mrs. Stanton, in a tone of rebuke. "How can you ask Captain Walker to go to that dreadful place? If you choose to go there yourself, you cannot expect that your friends will like to do so."

"No place can be too dreadful for me to which Miss Lorraine goes," said the captain. "I shall be only too happy to be of any service to her there."

"Oh, thank you," said Aldyth. "It would be so kind of you to come and play to the girls some evening. They are very fond of music."

"I call it a poor compliment to Captain Walker to ask him to play to a lot of low factory girls," said Gladys. "What can they know of good music?"

But Captain Walker did not appear to regard the request as uncomplimentary. He looked pleased, and listened with interest as Aldyth talked to him about the work at Whitechapel. He readily promised to help, and a day was fixed for his visit.

But there was a cloud on Mrs. Stanton's face as she heard the arrangement made, and Aldyth soon learned that she had given annoyance to her mother and sister.