CHAPTER XX.

UNWELCOME CHANGES COME IN FORTUNE'S TRAIN.

"GOOD-BYE, Aldyth! I'm off."

"Off? Off whither, Guy?" asked Aldyth, in her astonishment looking at his outstretched hand without taking it.

She had but just finished breakfast. Guy apparently had breakfasted earlier, for he stood before her, hat and stick in hand. And now Aldyth perceived that his dog-cart stood at the door, and a servant was placing what seemed to be luggage at the back.

"I am going to my own house," said Guy, stiffly. "I was down there on Saturday, and made every arrangement."

The colour flew into Aldyth's face. "Oh, Guy, why should you!" she exclaimed, deeply pained. "Surely things cannot be comfortable enough for you at the Farm, and there is no reason why you should not remain here."

"Excuse me," he said, proudly; "you do not understand. I see strong reasons why this house can no longer be my home."

"Oh, Guy, you speak as if we were enemies," said Aldyth. "Is it my fault that Wyndham was left to me? You know I would rather it had not been."

To these words Guy made no reply whatever, and his silence was irritating to Aldyth. She felt that he wanted to put her in the wrong. But she controlled herself, and after a few moments' reflection sympathy overcame irritation.

"It is dreadfully trying for you, I know, Guy," she said. "How I wish I could set it all right! You are mistaken if you think I rejoice at what has happened."

A low, impatient exclamation escaped her cousin.

"Why cannot you stay on here with me and aunt?" asked Aldyth, with the kindest intentions. "You need not think of getting your own house ready till Hilda is prepared to share it."

"If I wait for that, I shall wait a long time," he said, bitterly. "Do you think I can contemplate marriage on the income I shall draw from that wretched farm? I am not such a fool. No, that dream is over."

"Guy!" exclaimed Aldyth, startled and distressed.

It had not struck her that Hilda's happiness might be imperilled by the new, wholly unlooked-for turn of affairs. She recoiled afresh from the position in which she found herself. Wild ideas of setting aside her uncle's will, of insisting upon an equal division of the property, of refusing to live at Wyndham, flitted through her brain, only to be followed by a keen sense of their impracticability.

Whilst these thoughts possessed her, Guy again held out his hand. She took it mechanically, and the next instant he hurried from the room. Three minutes later she saw him drive away from the house.

Aldyth burst into tears. It was hard to have to pay such a price for an inheritance she had never desired. She began to hate the wealth that was bringing such isolation into her life. Her cousin, the playmate of her childhood, was driven from the home in which he had been brought up; her dearest friend was alienated from her, and all through no fault of her own. It was hard. Aldyth needed not to be told that she had become a chief centre of interest in the little world of Woodham. Past experience made her perfectly aware that her name was constantly on the lips of the gossips, and that truth was likely to suffer in the rapid exchange of ideas regarding her that was going on.

But she would have smiled had she known the magnitude to which her fortune had been blown by the breath of Rumour. According to some persons, the savings of old Stephen Lorraine had been enormous, and his niece had come into possession of little short of half a million. And to make the contrast as striking as possible, Guy's bequest was proportionately reduced. He had been cut off with a shilling and the farm at Wood Corner, which every one knew did not comprise the most productive acres in the neighbourhood.

"Have you heard the news, Mr. Glynne?" asked Clara Dawtrey, brave in the consciousness of a fresh pink gingham, which he must admire, as she stopped that gentleman in the London Road.

"What news, Miss Dawtrey?" he asked, fixing on her his peculiarly earnest gaze.

John Glynne had the quality of being a thorough listener. Clara found the gravity of his expression and the close attention he was paying to her words rather disconcerting, as she said, rapidly—

"Oh, the news about Aldyth Lorraine, I mean. Do you know that she has become a great heiress? Old Stephen saved tremendously all his life, and she has come in for no end of money. He was as close as possible; they say he would not even buy a new suit when his brother died. But I do call it a shame that such a nice fellow as Guy should have nothing."

"Is it so?" asked Mr. Glynne, quietly. "Does Mr. Guy Lorraine inherit nothing?"

"Oh, he has that mean little farm at Wood Corner, but what is that when he expected to be the heir of Wyndham? I am sorry for Hilda, but I must say it is amusing to think of Mrs. Bland's disappointment. She must have congratulated herself that Hilda was going to make such a good match."

The young lady laughed gleefully, but not a muscle of John Glynne's face changed. It was impossible to judge how he was affected by the news just out in Woodham, for it was the evening of the day on which old Mr. Lorraine's funeral had taken place.

"I would not be Aldyth Lorraine for anything," continued Miss Dawtrey, still uneasy beneath Mr. Glynne's gaze. "I should feel odious, taking everything like that. And in many ways it must be hateful to be an heiress. I should feel sure that every man who asked me to marry him only wanted me for my money. But the man who marries Aldyth will find that he cannot do as he likes with her money; old Stephen has tied it up tightly. But she ought to have married her cousin. I shall always say that. Every one expected it of her."

"Is a young lady bound to fulfil the expectations other people have formed concerning her?" asked Mr. Glynne, with a slight smile.

"Not at all," said Clara, readily; "for my part, I make a point of doing the reverse; there is nothing I enjoy more than astonishing people. But Aldyth has always been so good and proper."

John Glynne lifted his hat and moved on without saying more, though he wondered at the idea of goodness suggested by Miss Dawtrey's words.

The next minute he was passing Myrtle Cottage, which, with its closely-drawn blinds, had a deserted air. Even the little housemaid looked forlorn as she stood in the front garden, watering the geraniums. The memory of pleasant evenings spent within those walls came to him with a painful reminder that the pleasure was not likely to be renewed. Aldyth would never return to make her home in the cottage. The vision of her, rich, courted, removed to a distance from himself, rose before his mind. The wealth she had inherited would be an impassable barrier dividing them.

The news had come as a blow to him; but he rallied himself to bear it bravely. Till this moment he had hardly been aware how strong were the new hopes that had sprung up in his heart from the hour when he knew that Guy Lorraine had chosen another bride. They must be crushed now.

"It is well that I know in time," he said to himself. "Well that she can have no idea of all that she is to me; for it would be preposterous for a poor tutor to approach as a suitor the heiress of Wyndham."

But it was impossible to resist the suggestion which came with the memory of her last glance as she drove from the station, that possibly under other circumstances he might have won her love. John paused, and, with his arms folded on the top of a gate, and his unseeing eyes gazing across the fields, pictured to himself in imagination what this change might mean for Aldyth. He could not imagine her elated by this sudden dower of wealth. It was easier to think of her as shrinking from its burden, and fearful of herself, lest she should fail to discharge aright the new responsibility.

Would it make her happier? Hardly, for she was not one to prize material prosperity. Her tastes were simple; she had a childlike enjoyment of the common things of life. He thought her one of the least worldly of women. Was there any real danger of her giving herself to a worthless fortune-hunter? He could not think it. Her pure, strong face rising before his mental vision seemed to declare the idea absurd. The man who won her must be worthy of her love and confidence.

"God bless her!" Glynne said within his heart. "Ay, and He will bless her, for she is as pure and good and unselfish as an angel, and, whatever her lot may be, she will make others better and happier."

But though he had so high an opinion of the woman he loved, though he held her exalted above all vulgar conventional notions and aspirations, one to prize her womanhood more highly than her wealth, his pride yet saw in her fortune an insurmountable obstacle to his ever offering her his love.

"Hilda," said Kitty Bland to her sister, two days later, "mother is going to drive to Wyndham this afternoon. I suppose you will go with her to see Aldyth?"

They were in the garden. Hilda was stretched comfortably in the hammock, and Kitty, seated on a chair under the trees, with a basin in her lap and a basket by her side, was enraged in the homely occupation of shelling peas.

"I shall do no such thing," said Hilda, pettishly. "It is like you to suggest it, Kitty. How do you suppose I can bear to go to Wyndham?"

"Very easily," said Kitty, in her most matter-of-fact tone. "You always have liked going there, and I should think you would like it better now that Aldyth is at Wyndham, and not that dreadful old Mr. Lorraine. Oh yes, I know it's bad form to speak the truth of people when they are dead; but he was horrid. He was for ever annoying people whilst he lived, and he did his best to make things uncomfortable all round when he was gone."

"He treated Guy shamefully!" said Hilda, with emphasis. "After the noble way in which Guy saved his life, it was too bad! I can never bear to see Wyndham again—the place that I used to think would be my home."

"You have not thought so long," said Kitty, coolly; "it is barely three months since you became engaged. And, as I so often tell you, you should not count your chickens before they are hatched."

"At that rate one should never look forward to anything," said Hilda, discontentedly.

"Well, it is better not," said Kitty. "But, really, the house at Wood Corner is very nice, Hilda; a much more cheerful place than Wyndham, which, with that pond and so many trees about the house, always strikes me as gloomy."

"Oh, Kitty, it is lovely at night to see the moon shining on the pond, and the nightingales sing so beautifully in the trees!"

"Ah, I forgot; you are romantic, and enjoy that sort of thing," remarked Kitty. "You would like to live like Mariana in a moated grange."

"Oh, don't speak of that!" said Hilda, with a shiver. "I hope I may never be as wretched as Mariana, though sometimes I think—"

She did not finish her sentence. Kitty saw that tears were in her sister's eyes, and tried to cheer her by saying, briskly—"Well, I mean to make the best of things. I am very sorry for Guy's disappointment, and all that; but since he was not to have the property, I am glad it has come to our dear old Aldyth. Fancy her owning all those horses! That's a good thing for me, I know. She will give me a mount whenever I want one. How I wish she went in for hunting, that we might follow the hounds together!"

"You think of nothing but your own pleasure, Kitty," said Hilda, impatiently. "For my part, I am disgusted with Aldyth; I can never feel towards her as I used."

"Why, what has Aldyth done?" asked Kitty, in the utmost astonishment. "It is not her fault that her uncle left her the property."

"I am not so sure of that," said Hilda. "Guy thinks she must have known, and she might have used her influence on his behalf."

"What nonsense!" exclaimed Kitty, warmly. "When did you know Mr. Stephen Lorraine allow any one to influence him? He always did as he liked. I am surprised that you should say such a thing of Aldyth. After all your professions of friendship, too! You ought to know her better than to suppose that she would willingly supplant Guy!"

But Hilda would not take back her words, nor would she be persuaded to accompany their mother to Wyndham. She remained at home, sulky and miserable, whilst Kitty and Mrs. Bland went to see Aldyth.

Mrs. Bland would have been wanting in the natural feelings of a mother if she had not lamented Guy's altered prospects. She considered that the young man had been unfairly treated, for although old Stephen had been very guarded in the conversation he had with her, when he yielded his consent to an engagement between Hilda and Guy, his manner had conveyed to her the impression that he meant that his grandnephew should be his heir. The unexpected turn of affairs consequent on Mr. Lorraine's decease caused her considerable anxiety, but she never thought of blaming Aldyth in the matter. She rather felt that the girl was to be pitied, for she foresaw that Aldyth's inheritance would bring with it cares and difficulties which would weigh heavily on her young heart.

So Aldyth saw no change in the face of her old friend, and felt she was still dear to the motherly heart, which had taught her to place so high a value on the filial bond.

"Dear Mrs. Bland," she said at once, sure of her sympathy, "I don't think you need to be told that I would much rather not have had Wyndham. It is a real pain to me that Guy should go away, and I should be established here. I would reverse our positions if I could."

"I do not wish them reversed," said Mrs. Bland; "an equal division of the property would have been the right thing, in my opinion. I always thought you would have a handsome legacy, Aldyth, for your father was very dear to Mr. Lorraine and continued to be so to the end, I believe, in spite of that unhappy estrangement."

"Uncle once spoke to me about Wyndham," said Aldyth, "and I promised him I would use any influence I had to prevent the old place from being greatly altered after his death; but I am sure, although he spoke in that way, I never dreamed that he meant to leave the place to me."

"Of course not, my dear; how should you?" said Mrs. Bland. "Well, it is a great disappointment for Guy; but perhaps, after all, he will be none the worse for having to work harder and depend more upon himself. His marriage must be indefinitely postponed; but they are young, and a lengthened probation will be a good test of their love. Hilda, poor child, cannot see it in that light. But here come some more visitors—Clara Dawtrey and her father, I declare! You will have all Woodham out here this week, Aldyth."

"I could dispense with much of this civility," said Aldyth, smiling. "I hate to be treated us if I were somehow different from my former self. I do hope my friends will not change towards me."

"They are not likely to do that as long as you remain what you are," said Mrs. Bland, kissing her.

But Aldyth soon learned with sorrow that Hilda's love for her had cooled; and perhaps the change which she discerned in another friend cost her still deeper pain. Mr. Glynne was not amongst those who traversed the five straight miles of dusty road to pay their respects to the heiress of Wyndham. Aldyth hardly expected that he would come unless invited; but when some weeks later she chanced to meet him at Mrs. Greenwood's, there was such a lack of the old friendliness in his manner as made it impossible for her to respond to his grave politeness except with a courtesy equally distant.

Had any one told John Glynne that he had spoken coldly to Aldyth Lorraine, he would have been surprised. He was conscious of an inward excitement on seeing her that forced him to exercise strong self-control. Whilst talking to others he thought only of her, and nothing that she said or did escaped his notice. But it was impossible for Aldyth to know this. She was conscious only that he remained aloof from her, and when others were paying her considerable attention, appeared indifferent to her presence.

When he quitted the drawing room without having attempted to exchange a word with her, Aldyth's heart throbbed with painful resentment.

"Why should he be different to me now?" she asked herself. "I never needed a friend more than I do at this time, and he is so wise and good; he could advise me, he could help me. There are so many things I should like to say to him, but I cannot utter a word when he looks at me in that grave, severe way. Oh, I did think I could rest on his friendship; but that, too, is slipping away from me."