wintry weather set in again. the past few days had been intensely cold and bleak. ellen adair sat in one of her favourite outdoor seats. sheltered from the wind by artificial rocks and clustering evergreens, and well wrapped-up besides, she did not seem to feel the frost.
her later days had been one long trial. compelled constantly to meet arthur bohun, yet shunned by him as far as it was possible without attracting the observation of others, there were times when she felt as though her position at the hall were killing her. something, in fact, was killing her. her state of mind was a mixture of despair, shame, and self-reproach. captain bohun's conduct brought her the bitterest humiliation. looking back on the past, she thought he despised her for her ready acquiescence in his wish for a private marriage: and the repentance, the humiliation it entailed on her was of all things the hardest to bear. she almost felt that she could die of the memory--just as other poor creatures, whose sin has been different, have died of their shame. the thought embittered her peace by night and by day: it was doing her more harm than all the rest. to one so sensitively organized as ellen adair, reared in all the graces of refined feeling, this enforced sojourn at dallory hall could indeed be nothing less than a fiery ordeal, from which there might be no escape to former health and strength.
very still she sat to-day, nursing her pain. her face was wan, her breathing laboured: that past cold she had caught seemed to hang about her strangely. no further news had been received from mr. adair, and ellen supposed he was on his way home. after to-day her position would not be quite so trying, for arthur bohun was quitting dallory. sir nash had decided that he was strong enough now to travel, and they were to depart together at two o'clock. it was past twelve now. and so--the sunshine of ellen adair's life had gone out. never, as she believed, would a gleam come into it again.
in spite of the commotion beyond the walls of the hall now increasing daily and hourly to a climax, in spite of madam's unceasing exertions to urge it on, and to crush oliver rane, no word of the dreadful accusation had as yet transpired within to its chief inmates. mr. north, his daughter matilda, ellen adair, sir nash bohun, and arthur; all were alike in ignorance. the servants of course knew of it, going out to dallory, as they often did: but madam had issued her sharp orders that they should keep silence; and richard had begged them not to speak of it for their master's sake. as to sir nash and arthur bohun, richard was only too glad that they should depart without hearing the scandal.
he himself was doing all he could to stop proceedings and allay excitement. since the night of his interviews with jelly, mr. seeley, and dr. rane, richard had devoted his best energies to the work of suppression. he did not venture to see any official person, the coroner excepted, or impress his views on the magistrates; but he went about amongst the populace, and poured oil on the troubled waters. "for my father's sake, do not press this on," he said to them; "let my sister's grave rest in peace."
he said the same in effect to the coroner; begging of him, if possible, to hush it up; and he implied to all, though not absolutely asserting it, that dr. rane could not be guilty. so that ellen adair, sitting there, had not the knowledge of this to give her additional trouble.
a little blue flower suddenly caught her eye, peeping from a mossy nook at the foot of the rocks. she rose, and stooped. it was a winter violet. plucking it, she sat down again, and fell into thought.
for it had brought vividly before her memory that long-past day when she had played with her violets in the garden at mrs. cumberland's. "est-ce qu'il m'aime? oui. non. un peu. beaucoup. pas du tout. passionnément. il m'aime passionnément." false augurs, those flowers had been! deceitful blossoms which had combined to mock and sting her. the contrast between that time and this brought to ellen adair a whole flood-tide of misery. and those foolish violets were hidden away still! should she take this indoors and add it to them?
by-and-by she began to walk towards the house. turning a corner presently she came suddenly upon three excited people: captain bohun, miss dallory, and matilda north. the two former had met accidentally in the walk. miss dallory's morning errand at the hall was to say goodbye to sir nash; and before she and captain bohun had well exchanged greetings, matilda bore down upon them in a state of agitation, calling wildly to arthur to stay and hear the tidings she had just heard.
the tidings were those that had been so marvellously kept from her and from others at the hall--the accusation against dr. rane. matilda north had just learnt them accidentally, and in her horror and surprise she hurried to her half-brother, arthur, to repeat the story. ellen adair found her talking in wild excitement. arthur turned pale as he listened; to mary dallory the rumour was not new.
but arthur bohun and matilda north were strong enough to bear the shock. ellen adair was not so. as she drank in the meaning of the dreadful words--that bessy had been murdered--a deadly sickness seized upon her heart; and she had only time to sit down on a garden-bench before she fainted away.
"you should not have told it so abruptly, matilda," cried arthur, almost passionately. "it has made even me feel ill. get some water: you'll go quicker than i should."
alarmed at ellen's state, and eager to be of service, both matilda and miss dallory ran in search of the water. arthur bohun sat down on the bench to support her.
her head lay on his breast, as he placed it. she was without consciousness. his arm encircled her waist; he took one of her lifeless hands between his. thus he sat, gazing down at the pale, thin face so near to his; the face which he had helped to rob of its bloom.
yet he loved her still! loved her better than he did all the rest of the world put together! holding her to his beating heart, he knew it. he knew that he only loved her the more truly for their estrangement. his pulses were thrilling with the rapture this momentary contact brought him. if he might but embrace her, as of old! an irrepressible yearning to press her lips to his, came into his heart. he slightly lifted the pale sweet face, and bent down his own.
"oh, my darling! my lost darling!"
lips, cheeks, brow were kissed again and again, with impassioned tenderness. it was so long since he had touched them! a sigh escaped him; and he knew not whether it contained most of bliss or of agony.
this treatment was more effective than the water could have been. ellen drew a deep breath, and stirred uneasily. as soon as she began really to revive, he managed to get his coat off and fold it across the head and arm of the bench. when ellen awoke to consciousness, she had her head leaning on it; and captain bohun stood at a very respectful distance from her. never a suspicion crossed her mind of what he had been doing.
"you are better," he said. "i am glad!"
the words, the voice, aroused her fully. she lifted her head and opened her eyes and gazed around her in bewilderment. then what matilda had said came back with a rush.
"is it true?" she exclaimed, looking piteously at him. "it never can be true!"
"i don't know," he answered. "if false, it is almost as dreadful to us who hear it. poor bessy! i loved her as a sister."
ellen, exhausted by the fainting-fit, her nerves unstrung by the news, burst into tears. matilda and miss dallory came hastening up with water, wine, and smelling-salts. but she soon recovered her equanimity, so far as outward calmness went, without the aid of remedies, which she declined. rising from the bench, she turned towards the house, her steps a little uncertain.
"pray give your arm to miss adair, captain bohun," spoke mary dallory in sharp, quick tones, surprised perhaps that he did not do so. and upon that, captain bohun went to ellen's side, and held it out.
"thank you," she answered, and refused it with a slight movement of the head.
they walked on at first all together, as it were. but matilda and miss dallory were soon far ahead, the former talking excitedly about bessy rane and the terrible accusation regarding her. ellen's steps were slower; she could not help it; and captain bohun kept by her side.
"may i wish you goodbye here, ellen?" he suddenly asked, stopping towards the end of the shrubbery, through which they had been passing.
"goodbye," she faintly answered.
he took her hand. that is, he held out his own, and ellen almost mechanically put hers into it. to have made a scene by refusing, would have wounded her pride more than all. he kept it within his own, clasping his other hand upon it. for a moment his eyes met hers.
"it may be, that we shall never again cross each other's path in life, ellen. god bless you, my love, and keep you always! i wish to heaven, for both our sakes, that we had never met!"
"goodbye," she coldly repeated as he dropped her hand. and they walked on in silence and gained the lawn, where the two in advance had turned to wait for them.
but this was destined to be an eventful day: to others, at least, if not to them. at the appointed time, sir nash bohun and arthur took their departure; richard north, who had paid the baronet the attention of coming home to luncheon--for there was no longer any concealment now as to the true host of dallory hall--seeing them into their carriage.
"you have promised to come and stay with me, richard," said the baronet, at the farewell hand-shake.
"conditionally. when my work allows me leisure," answered richard, laughing.
"can't you go with us to the station, dick?" put in arthur.
"not to-day, i fear. i must hold an immediate interview with madam; it is important. if you waited for me you might lose the train."
arthur bent his face--one of pain now--to dick's, and whispered.
"is it money-trouble again, richard?"
"no; not this time."
"if she brings anything of that sort on you in future, refer her to me. yes, richard: i must deal with it now."
farewells were exchanged, and the carriage drove away. richard, stepping backwards, came into contact with miss dallory.
"i beg your pardon!" he exclaimed. "have i hurt you? i did not know you were there."
"of course you have not hurt me: and i had no business to be there. i stood to wave to them. good-afternoon, mr. richard."
"are you going?" he asked.
"i have promised to spend the afternoon and take tea with mrs. gass. luncheon was my dinner. i saw you looking at me as if you thought my appetite remarkable."
"miss dallory!"
she laughed slightly.
"to confess the truth, i don't think i noticed whether you took anything or nothing," said richard. "i have a great deal to trouble me just now. good-afternoon."
he would be returning to dallory himself in perhaps a few minutes, but he never said to her, "stay, and i will walk with you." miss dallory thought of it as she went away. it had indeed crossed richard's mind to say so: but he arrested the words as they were about to leave his lips. if she was to be arthur bohun's wife, the less richard saw of her the better.
inquiring for madam when he went indoors, he found she was ensconced in her boudoir. richard went up, knocked at the door, and opened it. madam appeared not to approve of the procedure; she bore down on him with a swoop, and would have bade him retire.
"what do you want here, richard north? i am not at liberty. i cannot admit you."
"pardon me, madam, i must speak with you for five minutes," he answered, passing quietly in.
by something he had heard that morning from dale, richard had reason to suppose that mrs. north was still actively pursuing the charge against dr. rane; was urging in high quarters the necessity for an investigation. richard had come to ask her whether this was the case, and to beg her, once for all, to be still. he sat down uninvited whilst he put the question.
but madam would acknowledge nothing. in fact, she led him to believe that it was altogether untrue; that she had not stirred in it at all since the caution richard had given her, not to do so, some days ago. it was simply impossible to know whether what she said might be depended on--for she was habitually more false than true. richard could only hope she was true on this occasion.
"it would be a terrible exposure," he urged. "madam, i beg you; i beg you for all our sakes, to be still. you know not what you would do."
she nodded an ungracious acquiescence: and richard departed for his works, casually mentioning to mr. north, as he passed him in the garden, that he should not return home until night. like miss dallory, he had intended the midday meal to be his dinner.
"dick," cried mr. north, arresting him, "what's the matter with matilda? she seems to be in a great commotion over something or other."
richard know not what to answer. if his father had to be told, why, better that he himself should break it to him. there was still a chance that it might be kept from him.
"something or other gone wrong, i suppose, sir. never mind. how well those new borders look!"
"don't they, dick! i'm glad i decided upon them."
and richard went on to his works.
