CHAPTER XXXI.

HOW GUY WAS PACIFIED.

GUY LORRAINE was filled with wonder as he read Aldyth's brief note—

"DEAR Guy,—Will you call to see me as early as possible to-morrow? A fact has come to my knowledge which is of importance to you, and you should know it without delay.

"Your affectionate cousin,

"ALDYTH."

His mind being much occupied with the subject of his uncle's will, his first guess touched the truth. Had another will come to light? His face flushed with pleasure at the thought.

He lost no time in obeying the summons. The morning was still fresh as he rode through the country lanes to Wyndham. His mind dwelt pleasantly on the change that the day's news might possibly create in his life. He was in such good humour that he indulged in some prospective pity for Aldyth, and resolved that if the case were as he supposed, he would deal generously with her and her family.

And Gladys—his heart beat faster at the thought—how would such a change affect his position towards her? It might be that the Stanton family need not be entirely losers by this turn of fortune.

Arriving at the Hall, he was ushered into the empty drawing room. The open windows gave a pleasant view of the sunlit lawn. Gladys's music was scattered untidily on the grand piano, her fan lay on a chair, and he spied, too, the quaint little bag in which she kept a pretence of fancy work. His quick eyes had but time to note these ere Aldyth entered.

She was very pale; her eyes had the strained look of sleeplessness, her expression was anxious. It struck Guy that Aldyth was losing her good looks; she looked older; her charms would not bear comparison with those of Gladys. Then he saw what her left hand held, and his heart leaped within him.

"Good morning, Guy," said Aldyth, without giving him her hand; "I am glad you came at once."

"You have news for me."

"Yes," said Aldyth, her lips trembling nervously, "I have a painful confession to make. We have wronged you sadly, Guy. We had no right to live at Wyndham; it was never mine. Here is uncle's latest will."

"You have found it!" he exclaimed with eagerness.

He took it from her and unfolded it with trembling hands. The colour rose in his face as he read. Aldyth, watching him, saw with a sinking heart that he had failed to take in the meaning of her words. All he had grasped was the fact of his heirship. At last he turned to her, his face glowing with a satisfaction he vainly tried to veil.

"This is a strange turning of the tables, Aldyth."

"Yes," she said uneasily.

He could not wonder that she looked ill and troubled. It was hard on her, of course. Yet in truth she had given no thought to the considerations which he imagined must disturb her. "I am sorry for your sake, Aldyth."

"Oh, do not be sorry for me," she said; "at least not till you know all."

"Ah, by the by, how did you find this? Mr. Greenwood assured me he had searched everywhere."

Aldyth was silent. Her face grew colourless. She could not bring herself to say, "It was found in my mother's bedroom, where she had concealed it."

Guy looked at her in amazement. "Where was it, Aldyth? Why do you not speak?"

"Because it hurts me to speak," she said unsteadily. "Yet it is right that you should know all. Guy, I told you I had a confession to make. You have been greatly wronged. The will has been kept back. Do you understand?"

"Kept back," he repeated, his manner changing. "Do you mean to tell me that this will has been deliberately suppressed? Who has dared to do such a thing?"

Aldyth could not answer. Her hands were tightly clasped before her. She looked up at him with eyes that seemed to beg for pity. But her silence only angered him.

"Aldyth, I insist upon knowing all. Who has dared to fool me thus? Do you not know that it is a deed that the law can punish? And whoever has done this thing—Tomlinson, Greenwood, whoever it is—I will have justice."

"Oh, Guy, do not say that!"

"I do say it, and I mean it too. Tell me all, if you please."

"I am trying to tell you. The will was found last September."

"September! And this is August. Who found it? Ah, you do not answer! Aldyth, have you been conspiring to keep me out of my property? I could never have believed it of you, though I know a woman's conscience is elastic."

"Guy! How dare you traduce our sex in that way!" exclaimed Gladys, suddenly entering by the open window, her hands full of flowers.

She knew nothing of the cause of Guy's early visit. Aldyth had shrunk from informing her of their mother's wrong-doing. If she supposed the words she overheard to be playfully spoken, she was undeceived when she saw Guy's angry countenance, and Aldyth, standing before him, pale, trembling, with drooping head.

"What in the world is the matter?" exclaimed the astonished girl. "You two are never quarrelling! Aldyth, my own dear Aldyth, tell me what it is."

At the sound of her voice, Aldyth's composure gave way. She sank on to a couch and began to sob.

Gladys turned haughtily to Guy. "Perhaps you will give me an explanation of this extraordinary scene. I should like to know how you could think of addressing such words to my sister, as those I chanced to overhear."

Guy's colour deepened now from embarrassment. He shrank from Gladys's flashing eyes. It was like a bad dream to find himself in antagonism to her. But something forced him to answer sullenly—

"You are probably unaware of what has just been revealed to me. Here is a will, bearing my uncle's signature, duly attested, by which he left me Wyndham and most of his property. This will some dishonourable person found so long ago as last September, but has judged it her interest to conceal until now, and doubtless would have concealed it longer had not Gould put me on the scent by informing me that uncle had made a later will."

Gradually Gladys took in the meaning of his words. They caused her a shock of surprise, but she recovered herself and said—

"You cannot mean to insinuate that Aldyth is that dishonourable person! I am ashamed of you if you have entertained such a thought for a moment—you who have known Aldyth all your life."

"I do not say it was she," replied Guy awkwardly; "but I should like to know who did it."

Gladys threw herself on the sofa beside her sister.

"Aldyth, dear, tell me," she murmured, her lips close to Aldyth's face, "tell me all about it. Never mind him—he is horrid; whisper it to me."

"Oh, Gladys, can you not guess?"

"Guess what?"

"It was mamma who found the will—and hid it."

A change came over Gladys. Her colour faded; the lines of her face hardened.

"I might have known," she muttered, beneath her breath. Then she rose and stood before Guy. "You may despise me as much as you like," she said, "but not Aldyth. It is our mother who has tried to keep you out of your property—our mother, I say; but she is more mine than Aldyth's. We are of one kind—capable of any meanness. She has robbed you, and doubtless she would say she did it for my sake. Oh, we are a bad lot!"

"Gladys!"

"I mean it. You may heap any disgrace you like on us, only spare Aldyth. It is her misfortune to be connected with us."

Here Gladys's voice faltered. It was rarely she gave way to tears, but now she sank on to a chair, and hot tears of shame and sorrow rained down her checks.

The effect on Guy was electrical. In a moment, he was beside her, uttering passionate words. "Gladys, how can you speak of disgrace! There shall be none; no one shall ever know. Do you think I cannot, for your dear sake, forgive your mother any wrong she has done me? Despise you, indeed, when I love you like my life! Only say that you will share everything with me, and trust to me that all shall be well."

"No, Guy; not now," said Gladys, gently pushing him from her. "Mother would never have let me whilst you had only the farm, and now—now I cannot. I will not have it said that I changed my mind because Wyndham turned out to be yours."

"Would it be a change of mind?" Guy was happily inspired to ask. "Were you quite indifferent to me before? Darling, give me the right to call you my own, and we can keep our own counsel about Wyndham for the present. If you can love me, what does it matter how people talk?"

"You are very good; we do not deserve—" Gladys began.

But her lover would not listen to such words.

Meanwhile Aldyth had vanished, and neither of the two knew at what moment she slipped away.

As soon as she had regained composure, Aldyth went to her mother's room.

Mrs. Stanton's face wore an expression of pain. She looked anxiously at her daughter, saying only—

"Well!"

"I have told him," Aldyth replied. "It was hard, but—I felt—not undeserved. He was, of course, very indignant."

"Ah, what did he say? Will he turn us out at once?"

"I think not; his feelings were softened when I came away. Gladys was with him, and—I think—I suppose, mamma, you would not object to him as a suitor for Gladys now?" Almost involuntarily Aldyth's voice took an inflection of scorn as she asked the question; but Mrs. Stanton did not appear conscious of it, as she replied calmly—

"Certainly not: it would be the best thing possible under the circumstances."

Guy succeeded in overcoming Gladys's scruples, for in a few days the fact of their betrothal was the talk of Woodham. The more momentous news concerning the inheritance of Wyndham was for a time known only to Mr. Ralph Greenwood and his brother, the banker; but the legal processes which had to be taken rendered it impossible to keep the matter a secret long.

Great was the excitement it created amongst Aldyth's friends. The Blands at first refused to believe that it was more than an idle rumour; but they soon heard it confirmed by Aldyth herself.

"Yes, it is true," she said one afternoon, as she joined the group on the lawn in Mrs. Bland's garden, "it is true; I am no longer the mistress of Wyndham."

It was late in September, but the afternoon was warm and bright as that on which our story began. The garden was still gay with flowers; there were even a few late roses to be seen here and there. Kitty's conch had been wheeled on to the lawn, and she lay in the shade of an old apple-tree. Gwendolen, now finally released from her boarding-school, was lounging in the hammock; Hilda sat by Kitty, with a book on her lap, from which she had been reading aloud; Mrs. Bland, knitting in hand, was also seated near.

All faces turned with keen interest to Aldyth as she appeared. Hilda sprang to meet her. No question was asked; Aldyth's words were uttered in response to their eager glances.

"You are our own dear Aldyth, whatever has happened," said Mrs. Bland, as she warmly kissed her.

"But I am very sorry, Aldyth," said Hilda, in a commiserating tone; "I am indeed."

"Don't be sorry for me," said Aldyth, briskly, "I am not altogether sorry myself. If the truth had come to light a few weeks after I entered upon my inheritance, I should have been really glad. But now, of course, there are many things to regret. I wish, oh, I wish very much that I had known earlier!" She ended with a sigh.

"How was the will found, Aldyth?" asked Gwendolen, full of curiosity. "Is it true that it was in a secret drawer of old Mr. Lorraine's desk?"

"It was in a secret compartment of my uncle's bureau," Aldyth said, and moved, as she spoke, to Kitty's side, to ask how she was, and to express pleasure at finding her in the garden.

"Yes, it is good to be here," said Kitty, her face serene and bright; "I never loved our dear old garden as I do now. Sometimes I feel as if I wanted to kiss the flowers, they look so kindly at me—as if they were blooming just for me. Oh, I cannot tell you the good flowers do me; I could almost say they talk to me, Aldyth, for there is a language of flowers. I do not mean the silly meanings sentimental persons attach to certain flowers. What I want to say, if only I knew how to express it, is that flowers have a way of speaking to the heart."

"To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears,"

repeated Aldyth.

"Yes, that expresses it. Wordsworth understood the language of flowers. Do you remember his lines to the daisy?—

"'When smitten by the morning ray I see thee rise, alert and gay: Then, cheerful flower, my spirits play With kindred gladness; And when, at dusk, by dews opprest, Thou sink'st, the image of thy rest Hath often eased my pensive breast Of careful sadness.'

"Now look at that cluster of Michaelmas daisies: have they not an air of cheerfulness?"

"They have indeed," said Aldyth, smiling; "but, Kitty, it is something new to hear you quoting poetry."

"I dare say it is; but I am learning to appreciate Wordsworth. Hilda and I are studying literature together. I should not wonder if I were to become intellectual after all," said Kitty, with a merry light in her eyes.

"Kitty is finding what precious companions books can be," said Hilda. "There is nothing like them for lifting us out of ourselves, and helping us through weary hours."

"Oh, but they do more than that," said Aldyth. "The best literature helps us in a higher way than by simply making us forget our troubles. It teaches truths that inspire us with strength and courage to endure."

"You are right," said Kitty. "Aldyth, dear, I can see that you have needed that kind of help of late. There is a shadow on your face that tells tales."

"I have had many worries," said Aldyth, colouring.

"You must have had," said Mrs. Bland. "Your mother will feel this change very much."

"She does," said Aldyth, looking grave. "She is still far from strong, and that perhaps makes her more low-spirited than she would otherwise be."

"Have you made any plans yet?"

"Only for the immediate future. We all go to London on Saturday, to stay some weeks. There is Gladys's trousseau to be seen to, you know. Then mamma would like to go to Brighton for a while."

"To Brighton!" said Hilda. "That is where Mr. Greenwood talks of going."

"I know," said Aldyth. "I believe he suggested it to mamma."

Kitty and her mother exchanged quick glances.

"When will the wedding be?" asked Gwen.

"Some time before Christmas," said Aldyth. "We are to return to Wyndham for the wedding, as Guy wishes it to take place there. So you see we shall break off our connection with the Hall by degrees. I must say that Guy has behaved most kindly, most generously, in the whole affair. I have reason to be very grateful to him."

Aldyth spoke with unwonted emphasis. It seemed to her due to Guy, whom she had often disparaged, that she should make this statement which meant so much more to her than it could to those who heard it.

"I should think he ought to behave well to you!" cried Gwen. "He is one of the family now, since he is going to marry your sister."

A quick thought made Aldyth glance at Hilda. Her face showed no sign of disturbance. If the thought of the approaching wedding gave her pain, she was well able to hide the feeling. Presently she rose, and calling Gwen to help her, went into the house to prepare the afternoon tea. Kitty's eyes followed her lovingly, as she said in a low tone to Aldyth—

"Is not Hilda good and brave now? I am sure she must feel Guy's ready transference of his affections, but she will not let it depress her. Oh, she is becoming a grand girl."

"I know a grander," said Aldyth, bending to kiss her friend. "Dear Kitty, you gather so much brightness about your couch that we are apt to forget what it must mean for you."

"It means good," said Kitty, brightly. "Yes, indeed it is not so bad as you think; I will not be persuaded that I am a pitiable object."

Aldyth smiled as she turned away.

A pitiable object indeed! Kitty was rather one to be envied. She had learned the hardest lesson life can teach us—that of resignation, and had won the peace which is the reward of such attainment. Kitty had never been able to talk cleverly about poetry, she had seemed insensible to its beauties, but now she was making of her own life a poem.