CHAPTER XXVII.

AN ACCIDENT IN THE HUNTING-FIELD.

IT was not surprising that Mrs. Stanton should seem sorely depressed after the arrival of the mail from Australia. The news it brought was of the worst. The bankruptcy of the large mercantile house was utter; nothing could be saved from the wreck for the widow and children of the senior partner. They might console themselves with the thought that they were not the only sufferers. Upon every one connected with the business, loss had fallen, and in most cases, it meant ruin.

It was easy to find cause for blame, and public opinion did not spare the principals. Mrs. Stanton might count it a fortunate circumstance that the broad seas now separated her from the social circle at Melbourne which had formerly courted and flattered her.

Aldyth could not wonder that her mother shed many tears over the letters which told all that could be told of her husband's last hours, and gave particulars of the interment. She could comprehend her mother's nervousness and irritability, the evidence of sleepless nights and wearing emotions. But she could not understand the aversion her mother seemed to have conceived for Guy Lorraine.

That gentleman made his call at the Hall not long after his introduction to Gladys. On the first occasion, Mrs. Stanton declined to see him, but Guy, considering himself one of the family, came again and again, bent on making himself agreeable, and eager to be of service to the new residents, so that it was not easy for Mrs. Stanton to avoid him. She sat on thorns whilst he was present, and his departure was the signal for an outbreak of bitter comments on his dulness, awkwardness, and general lack of social graces. Yet she always maintained an outward show of cordiality towards him. Indeed, it seemed to Aldyth that her mother was especially careful to fail in no courtesy with regard to Guy, and she interpreted this as a sign that her mother shared her regretful consciousness of the loss her inheritance had involved for Guy.

Gladys was ready enough to raise a laugh at Guy's expense, yet his visits were not disagreeable to her. It pleased her to play off upon him her most fascinating airs, with a result highly gratifying to her vanity. He had been struck with admiration at the first sight of her, and he readily succumbed to her fascinations. Ere Hilda Bland returned to her home, he was utterly, hopelessly enslaved by his new charmer. The fire kindled within him was, as Aldyth was quick to perceive, no spurious flame. He was genuinely in love at last, and Aldyth could almost pity him, little as he deserved pity, for she saw no hope of his wooing successfully. It was not to be supposed that Mrs. Stanton would allow her pretty Gladys to wed a mere farmer.

Yet Mrs. Stanton did not discourage the intimacy to the extent Aldyth expected. She was fretful with her daughter when she showed a preference for Guy's society; but she did not endeavour to prevent their meeting. Gladys would have found her days dull at Wyndham but for his frequent visits.

There were few other visitors during the early days of their bereavement. Mr. Greenwood, and his brother, the solicitor, came pretty frequently, and were welcome guests, although their visits were ostensibly on business. The banker's large house in the High Street seemed grievously large and vacant to him without the wife who had made it so cheerful a home. Aldyth was a great favourite with him, and he was perhaps, glad that his office of executor to Stephen Lorraine's will afforded him many pretexts for visiting her at Wyndham. The evenings spent in her pretty drawing room, with three charming women exerting themselves for his entertainment, were a pleasant contrast to those he passed in dreariness at home.

The rides which Gladys took almost daily were her chief source of pleasure in this quiet season. Dearly as she loved the exercise, Aldyth could seldom accompany her, for her mother, shrinking more and more from being left to her own thoughts, constantly required her companionship. Aldyth was content to forego her own pleasure; it was so sweet to feel that her mother needed her.

Meanwhile the pretty form of Gladys, mounted on Pansy—she nearly always rode Pansy—with a groom following on another horse, became a familiar sight at Woodham; for she loved the slight sensation she created when she rode down the High Street. Not seldom she returned from her ride accompanied by Guy, who was ever on the watch for a chance of meeting her. It vexed Mrs. Stanton to see her return so escorted; but if she gave expression to her annoyance, Gladys only laughed and told her mother not to be afraid, she knew what she was about.

"I do not think I am exactly the one to wed a country bumpkin," she said one day. "It would be different, would it not, mamma, if he had been the heir to Wyndham?"

It was an aimless shaft of satire, but it found a mark of which she little guessed. Her mother's face blanched; a spasm as of positive pain passed over it. Gladys saw and wondered. What had she said? Surely nothing worse than many of her careless speeches?

"It is not fair to call Guy a bumpkin," said Aldyth, who was present.

"Perhaps not," replied Gladys; "but he is a farmer, is he not? Can you fancy me a farmer's wife, with my sleeves turned up, making butter?"

"No, I cannot," said Aldyth, and laughed—it was impossible to take Gladys seriously—"but I do not think Guy will expect his wife to make the butter; there are few farmers wives who do that nowadays."

Mrs. Stanton breathed more freely as she heard their light talk. Had she betrayed herself? No, they could never suspect it; but the terrible pressure of her secret! At times it was insupportable.

Christmas was within hail ere Kitty and Hilda Bland came home. After their return from the Continent, they had made a long stay in London. Hilda's health and spirits had revived somewhat amidst fresh scenes and acquaintances; but the coming back was a trial to her, and she would not nerve herself to bear it bravely. It would be hard to face her little world again, and hers was a nature that seeks to avoid hardship.

"Oh, Aldyth, I cannot live here!" she cried when first they met. "Woodham is hateful to me now. Do try if you can persuade mother that I should be better away. If only she would let me be trained as a nurse!"

"Would you really like that?" Aldyth asked.

"As much as I could like anything; it would be something to do."

"You would find it very hard work, I fear. Hilda, I have an idea in my head of some work in which you might help me."

"What is it?" Hilda asked, without much interest.

"There is a cottage half a mile from Wyndham, on the edge of the common. A gamekeeper used to live in it; but it has been empty some time. There are three good rooms below and above. I am thinking of putting it in thorough repair and converting it into a country home for my factory girls. It would do some of those poor overworked girls so much good to spend a few weeks in the country. I can rely on Mrs. Wheatley to find out those who most need it, and send them down to me. Now, do you not think it a good idea?"

"Yes, it is," said Hilda, without, however, manifesting any enthusiasm.

"I shall have to find a good motherly woman to take charge of the home," said Aldyth too full of the matter to be chilled by Hilda's lack of interest. "Of course I cannot open it till the spring, but once started, I see no reason why we should not have guests there nearly all the year round. There is a pretty little garden before the house, and ground enough behind to grow all the vegetables that will be needed."

Aldyth checked herself she became aware that Hilda was paying no heed to what she said. They were seated in the bow-window of Mrs. Bland's drawing room, and Hilda's attention was arrested by two riders who were passing the house. The painful flush which had risen in Hilda's face proclaimed the individuality of the gentleman.

"Who is that with him?" she asked, in a hurried whisper.

"Gladys, my sister," Aldyth said.

"Oh, Aldyth, what does it mean?" poor Hilda asked.

"Don't distress yourself," replied Aldyth. "Their being together has no particular significance, only I will not disguise from you that Gladys's society has a strong attraction for Guy."

Hilda burst into tears.

"Oh, Aldyth, and you would have me stay at Woodham!"

After that, it was not surprising that Hilda abandoned herself afresh to melancholy, sank back into a semi-invalid state, resolutely refused all invitations, and in a variety of ways tried the patience of her mother and Kitty.

It was a pleasure to Aldyth to welcome Nelly, and Cecil also for a few days, to her home at Christmas.

Gwendolen Bland, too, was at home, and despite the distance of Wyndham Hall from Woodham, she and Kitty were often with Aldyth and her sisters. The girls made a lively party together. Gladys and Kitty took to each other and became good friends. They often rode together, dispensing with the attendance of the groom, which Mrs. Stanton insisted upon when Gladys rode alone.

Mrs. Stanton was well pleased that Kitty should be Gladys's companion, for Kitty held herself haughtily aloof from Guy Lorraine, resenting his conduct towards her sister, so that despite his sangfroid, he could hardly thrust his company upon her.

The hunting season brought the girls a new excitement. Gladys was an accomplished and fearless rider, and Kitty not a whit behind her in daring. They set their hearts upon following the hounds.

Mrs. Stanton expressed some disapproval, but did not forbid Gladys to hunt, perhaps being doubtful of her power to restrain her daughter from doing as she wished.

Mrs. Bland's consent was more difficult to win. She had a nervous dread of accident, and at first would not hear of such a thing. But in a weak hour, the combined persuasions of Gladys and Kitty overcame her better judgment. She was induced to consent for "just this once," and after that, Kitty contrived to follow the hounds as often as she desired. The two young ladies, Gladys charmingly equipped and fascinating all the gentlemen with her grace and spirit, were to be seen at most of the meets in the neighbourhood.

Admiring comments on their riding reached the ears of their mothers, and even Mrs. Bland felt some pride, for which she afterwards bitterly reproached herself, in her daughter's bold horsemanship. She ceased to feel much fear, remembering how well the girls rode, and that they had promised to do nothing rash.

"This is the last time, mother; really the last time," cried Kitty Bland, one bright morning in February, as she came down stairs in her riding habit and hat and met her mother's reproving shake of the head. Her words were truer than she knew.

The sun was shining in at the bay window, but the air outside was sharp with frost, and Hilda with a woollen shawl about her shoulders was hanging over the fire. A warm colour glowed in Kitty's face. The cold only exhilarated her. She looked so fresh and strong and glad as she stood at the window, impatiently flourishing her whip, eager to be in the saddle and off.

"I wish you would shut the door," said Hilda, in a pettish tone. "You never think that any one else is in the room."

"All right; here's Gladys. I'm off now," cried Kitty. "Good-bye!"

Hilda hardly took the trouble to respond. She had risen in a miserable humour, but had anything been needed to complete her dissatisfaction, the mention of Gladys would have been enough. It annoyed her to hear the girl's merry tones greeting Mrs. Bland, who stood at the door to watch Kitty mount.

"We shall have a lovely run; the day is perfect," Gladys said.

A burst of merry laughter followed some remark of Mrs. Bland's, and then the girls moved off. Hilda saw them pass the window, for the meet to-day was at an old manor form, "down the Hundreds." A low moan escaped her.

"Some girls have everything that heart can wish," she said to herself. "It is good to be Kitty. She is for ever off to some pleasure or other. She has never known a trouble; if she had, she might understand my feelings."

Ere the day was over Hilda recalled these thoughts with bitter pain. A terrible shock roused her from her self-absorption; for three hours later, Kitty was carried insensible across the threshold of her home. Her horse had fallen with her, and she was seriously injured—how seriously could not yet be ascertained; but her condition was such as gave rise to the worst fears.

Aldyth learned the news an hour later, when Gladys, white and shivering, came home attended by Guy, who had been at hand when the accident happened, and had rendered all the service in his power.

Gladys was too shocked and confused to give a clear account of what had happened. "I only know that the hounds were in full cry, and we were tearing after them. I saw a fence—it was not very high—and I never thought of there being a ditch the other side. 'Come, Kitty,' I cried, 'we can do this,' and went for it. I fancy some one called to me to stop."

"I shouted to you," said Guy. "I thought you must be mad to go at it like that."

He wished he could recall the words when he saw Gladys's face become convulsed with grief. He would not willingly have added to her pain.

"I was mad!" she sobbed, hysterically. "I was wild with excitement; I felt no fear even when I saw what a leap it was Pansy was taking. But the next moment there was a crash, a cry, and I saw that Kitty's horse had fallen in the ditch, and she was beneath him. Oh, the horror of it! I can never forget it. She looked like death when they lifted her."

"Oh, do not say so!" implored Aldyth. She turned to Guy in an agony of fear. "It is not so bad as that? She will recover?"

"God grant she may!" he murmured, more moved than she had ever seen him. "But—it was enough to kill her."

And that was all the comfort Aldyth could gleam from them.