there was a row royal when pamela got back to newnham. she told lucy that her conduct was disgraceful, and that if it came to the ears of the dons she would be 'hauled.'

there had been several girls 'hauled' lately for the same offence—walking with an undergraduate to the very gate of the college.

lucy mildly suggested that she was not exactly alone, that pamela and her brother were with her, and that she herself, when she came up to her on the bridge, was walking in the young man's society.

'you forget that eric was with me,' pamela replied sharply. 'it makes all the difference if you[pg 181] have a brother, or any male relative, with you; but to be walking alone, tearing along at the rate you were, and talking confidentially—anyone could see that you were talking confidentially—dozens of girls have been sent down for less than that!'

lucy wasn't 'hauled,' and she wasn't 'sent down'; but pamela behaved like a bear to her for the remainder of the term.

lucy was so anxious about the master that she went over to the lodge the next day directly after lunch. cousin mary was out; she had left him sitting in his chair taking his after-dinner nap as usual, and she had gone out. he woke up directly lucy came in, and began to talk to her about her father and the old time. she was very glad that she had not brought pamela in with her, or any of the newnham girls, as she sometimes did. he would have told them that ridiculous story that was running in his mind, how his brother dick had met her mother at a dancing-booth at the fair. he would have dwelt on all the homely details of their humble history. it would[pg 182] have been all over newnham the next day that her father was a ploughman, and her mother kept a stall in the butter-market. annabel crewe, who had a fine taste for caricature, would have drawn delightful pictures of lucy's progenitors—a lovely old man in a smock-frock with straw round his legs, and a milkmaid with her pail!

she couldn't divert the master's attention from this ridiculous topic. he had forgotten all about the things that had happened in later years, and had gone back in memory to the old familiar scenes and faces of his youth. his eyes were brighter to-day, and he was more restless than usual; he wanted to go out into the garden and sit in his accustomed seat on the lawn. it was such a perfect may day that no wonder he wanted to get out of that dark, gloomy old room, with the stuffy moreen curtains over the windows, and the faded carpets, and the worm-eaten, old-fashioned furniture, and the musty old books, into the sweet summer sunshine, where everything was fresh and new.

[pg 183]

there was nothing dark and gloomy and oppressive out there in that sweet leafy fellows' garden. the lilacs were in their prime, pale puce and white and purple, every delightful indescribable hue, and the laburnum was dropping gold upon the grass. there was a cuckoo somewhere, calling, and the thrushes were singing, and the blackbird's note was still shrill and clear. it would soon be hoarse as a raven's, and the thrush would be silent, and the cuckoo would have altered his tune, and the lilac would have faded, and the gold of the gleaming, down-dropping laburnums would have turned to gray—and—and he might not be here to see it. if he wanted to enjoy the fleeting sunshine and the flying blossoms of the year, there was no time like the present.

the master didn't exactly put it in this way, but he was impatient to be out in the garden, in his old seat, and he wouldn't wait a minute longer for anybody.

if mary wasn't there he would go without her.

there are none so impatient as the old. the[pg 184] young have plenty of time to spare—they have their life before them; but the old have not a minute to lose. the master went out as usual, leaning on the arm that had supported him so many years, that had never failed him yet. mrs. rae and lucy took him out between them. he walked in his slow accustomed way, leaning rather heavily on these two frail props until he reached his seat beneath the walnut-tree, and here he ought to have sat down.

but he didn't sit down. he insisted on going farther; he insisted on going down the path to the greenhouse. mary had been saying something about it, repeating what the tutor had said yesterday about having it done up and turned to some account, and the master would not be satisfied until he had seen it. he must be consulted about it; nothing should be done in the gardens without his consent. he had been worrying about it all night.

he had got half-way down the path, when lucy fancied he was beginning to lean heavily, more[pg 185] heavily than she could bear, though she put out all her strength. there was not a seat near, but she stopped and begged the master to rest awhile. he was so anxious to see the greenhouse that he would not listen to her. he never thought of the women who were being weighed down with his great weight. he was as eager and determined as a child.

'i am sure, aunt, you are not strong enough to keep him up,' lucy said in despair; she was getting really frightened. 'we must get someone to help him back. oh, if someone would only come in!'

there was not a gardener in sight, and it was not likely that anyone would come in. nobody but the fellows ever walked in that garden.

the master tottered on, feebler at every step; but he would not be kept back, and the two frightened women held him up as well as they could. he seemed to want more support every step he took; he was as feeble and helpless as a child, but still he pressed on. lucy was sure[pg 186] she couldn't bear the strain a minute longer, and the dear old mistress was straining with all her might to keep up with him. she was putting out all her strength. it wasn't much to put out at the best, but she didn't keep back a feather weight. oh, if someone would only come!

they came in sight of that wretched greenhouse at last, and here the master stopped. he didn't exactly stop, but he tottered forward, and lucy with a supreme effort kept him up, and with all his weight upon her he swayed to and fro, and before she knew what was happening he had slipped through her arms to the ground. he lay on the path, as he fell, all of a heap. he had no power to help himself, and he lay panting and breathing heavily as he had fallen, and the women stood beside him wringing their hands.

lucy didn't stand beside him long. there was a door in the wall beside the greenhouse that led out into one of the courts, and she flew over to it. fortunately the door was unlocked. lucy looked eagerly round the deserted court and raised her[pg 187] feeble cry for help. it was such a feeble, piteous cry; it was like a wail. a man sitting reading at an open window looked out at that strange sound, and lucy called to him: 'oh, come, come, do come!'

the man didn't stay to ask what had happened; he was at lucy's side in another moment, and she took him in through the open door to where the master lay. it was wyatt edgell. a gyp coming across the court had heard the cry for help, and between them they bore the master back to the lodge.

when mary rae came in she found a little anxious group gathered round him, and wyatt edgell was trying to reassure the frightened women. nothing very serious had happened. no bones were broken, but the master was very much shaken, and he was not quite himself. wyatt edgell stayed with him until the doctor had come, and had ascertained that things were not very bad—not so bad as they might have been—and had calmed the fears of the women; and then[pg 188] lucy was so shaken that he walked back with her to newnham.

lucy certainly would have been 'hauled' if the dons had seen her walking back leaning heavily on an undergraduate's arm. she would have been invited to an interview with the authorities in the principal's room, and she would have received a caution, perhaps a reprimand, and she would have been very lucky if nothing worse had happened. lucy forgot all about the dons and pamela's warning. she only thought about that poor old man at the lodge.

'i don't think he will ever get over this,' she said, or rather sobbed. she was not herself at all. she was such a tearful, frightened little lucy. she was not in the least like a stoic.

'i am afraid not,' said edgell. 'the master has been failing for some time. the men all remarked that he would never read the litany again in chapel.'

'you think he is so bad as that?' lucy said tearfully.

[pg 189]

'yes, quite. think of his age. his time must come some day, and he has lived longer than most men. you could not expect him, in any case, to live for many months longer.'

'no,' said lucy sadly; and then he saw the tears dropping down her pale face. he could not believe she was weeping for that old, old man whose time had come, and who was a stranger to her till yesterday.

'what will you do when he is gone?' he asked abruptly.

'do? i don't know—i have not thought. i shall stay at newnham, i suppose, two years; i shall not be able to afford three; and then—and then i shall go out as a governess.'

'you shall never go out as a governess!' said edgell with an oath.

lucy looked at him, frightened and bewildered; she couldn't think what he meant, and then she broke down and began to cry.

'dear miss rae—lucy!' he said, and then he[pg 190] stopped and looked at the girl. he would have liked to take her in his arms, but there were several newnham girls all hurrying down the road, and they looked at him, and they looked at lucy. some of them blushed, and some turned pale, and all were shocked. it was a dreadful precedent.

the atmosphere of newnham revived lucy, and she paused at the gate and looked up into his face with a little white smile.

'i am very stupid,' she said, 'but the master frightened me so much, and i am not quite myself.'

he held her hand longer than he need have done, and he looked down into the small white face with a smile of ownership and protection that was quite new to lucy. nobody had ever looked in her eyes like that before, and, instead of drawing her hand away, lucy hung her head and blushed like a poppy.

'shall i bring you word how the master is the first thing in the morning?' he said, still holding[pg 191] her hand; 'how early will you be out in the lane if i come?'

'oh, as early as you like; seven o'clock!'

and so lucy made her first appointment to meet wyatt edgell.