CHAPTER XXVII.—WHY IS SHE SO?
There never was a man who felt more buoyant on learning that his name had been set down in a will for a handsome legacy than Philip felt on learning that he had been cut out of one. First, it was the right thing to do: he was sure of that, the circumstances considered; next, it had helped to render this interview, which he had expected to be so painful, a pleasant one. Thus he was enabled to speed with a gay heart to Madge, carrying the happy tidings, that in spite of the awkward position he occupied between his uncle and father, he seemed to be more in accord with the latter, and certainly much more in his confidence, than he had been at any previous time.
He took a short-cut through the Forest—the way was too well known to him for him to lose it; and besides, the evening was not dark to his young eyes, although some black flying clouds helped the skeleton trees to make curious silhouettes across his path. Then swiftly down by the river-side, catching glimpses of stars flickering in the rippling water, and his steps keeping time to its patter, as it broke upon the stones or bulging sedges.
As he was crossing the stile at the foot of the meadow, he caught the sound of whispering voices from the direction of the ‘dancing beeches.’ A lovers’ tryst, no doubt, and the voices were very earnest. He smiled, and quickened his pace without looking back. He, too, was a lover.
At the house he found Aunt Hessy alone in the oak parlour, where the customary substantial tea was laid, instead of in the ordinary living-room. That was suggestive of company. Aunt Hessy had on her Sunday cap and gown. That also was suggestive of company.
‘Going to have some friends with you to-night?’ he said gaily.
‘Thou art a friend, and here,’ she answered, with her quiet welcoming smile; ‘but I do expect another—that is, Mr Beecham.’
‘What! you have persuaded the shy gentleman to become your guest at last? Do you know how I account for his shyness?—he saw you at church, and fell in love with you. That’s how it is, and he won’t come here because he was afraid of you. Lovers are always shy—at first.’
‘Thou art a foolish lad, Philip, and yet no shining example of the shyness of lovers. Were they all like thee, no maiden would lose a sweetheart for lack of boldness on his part. Art not ashamed?’
‘I am, Aunt Hessy,’ he answered with his boyish laugh, ‘ashamed that you cannot understand how we are all your lovers—and ought to be.’
‘That will do.’ But although she spoke with much decision in her tone, there was no displeasure in her comely face. She understood him.
‘I won’t say another word, except to ask you how you have conquered Mr Beecham?’
‘Ah, but we are not sure that we have conquered him yet. He was with Dick this morning, and gave him some help with the cattle. Dick is in the barn with them now, for he is afraid there’s trouble coming to them.’
‘And I suppose he is angrier than ever about the live-stock brought into the market from abroad?’
‘It is making him anxious, and with reason. Well, he wanted his friend to come and take dinner; but Mr Beecham said he would rather come in some evening soon and take tea with us. So, in the afternoon I sent Madge off to the village, and bade her make him come this evening. I don’t know what’s come of her. She’s been away more than three hours, and she is not one to loiter on the road.’
‘Which way do you think they’ll come?’ asked Philip, rising quickly from his seat.
‘By the meadows, of course. She never comes round by the road except when driving.’
‘I’ll go and meet them.’
But before he could move, they heard the front-door open.
‘That’s her,’ said the dame, gladly expectant.
Madge entered the parlour alone; and Philip was surprised to note that she seemed to be a little startled by something—his presence perhaps. Next, he was surprised to note that she looked pale and excited.
‘Thou hast not persuaded our friend to come to us, then,’ said the dame, disappointed, and not observing Madge so closely as Philip.
‘Has anything happened Madge?—What has frightened you?’ he said quickly, taking her hands and gazing into her eyes.
‘Nothing has frightened me, Philip,’ she answered hurriedly, and with a remote sign of irritability at her present condition being noticed. ‘I have been running up the meadows, and I daresay I am flushed a little.’
‘Flushed!—Why, you are as white as if you had seen a ghost.’
‘Well, perhaps I have seen a ghost. Would you like to go and look for it?’
She withdrew her hands and went to her aunt.
Philip stood still, surprised and puzzled, and a little distressed. It was such a new experience to see Madge nervous and irritable—she who was always so calm and clear-sighted when other people lost their heads—that he did not know what to make of it. And then there was such impatience in the way she had snapped up what he considered a very natural remark for any one who looked at her steadily for a moment. Her eyes had not met his in the usual clear, trustful way: they seemed to avoid his gaze, and she had turned from him as if he annoyed her! Why was she so?
‘I had to wait some time for Mr Beecham, aunt,’ Madge said. Her voice was husky, and unlike any sound Philip had heard her produce before. ‘Then we were talking a long time together, and that is what has made me so late. He says he cannot come this evening. I told him how much you wished him to come, and he said he would have liked very much to do so, but could not.... I am afraid I have caught a cold.... I did my best to get him to come, but he would not.... My head is aching, aunt; I think I shall go up-stairs.’
The dame was now as much surprised as Philip by the curious manner of her niece; but she did not show it. She lifted off the girl’s hat, passed her hand gently over the hot brow, and said soothingly: ‘Yes, child, you had better go up-stairs; and I will come to you in a few minutes. I don’t believe you have changed your boots since the morning. Go up-stairs at once.’
‘I will try and come down again, Philip,’ she said, tenderly touching his arm as she passed, to console him for that little irritability.
‘All right, Madge; I’ll wait,’ he answered cheerfully.
She passed out, and there was a yelping of dogs heard at the same time. In rushed Dash and Rover and Tip, followed by their master.
‘I am as hungry as a hawk, mother, and so are the dogs,’ exclaimed Uncle Dick, after saluting Philip. ‘I can’t wait for anybody.—Sit down, lad, and eat.’
The dame served them, and then quietly left the room.
Philip ate, and heard Uncle Dick speaking as if from a far distance; but all the time he was perpetually asking himself—‘Why is she so?’