Ethel's anger was never bitter in kind, or long lasting, and annoyance soon gave way to amusement. Poor old Tom! After all, he had not meant any harm; and he did not know Nigel; but how Tom could ever have thought such a thing possible was the marvel. Leave all she loved in England, and go to Australia with only Tom and Tom's herbaria!
"Oh, never!" said Ethel to herself. She repeated the word energetically, half aloud, as she passed through the square—"Never!" and a passerby turned to look at her, smiling. Ethel did not see; she went quickly, without any particular aim, towards the river.
It was a tempting afternoon for a stroll, balmy and soft—one of those mild grey days, with occasional gleams of sunshine, which do sometimes intrude themselves into an English winter. They are not exactly invigorating days, and enthusiastic skaters are wont to abuse them; but to haters of cold they come as a cheery foretaste of spring.
Gleams of sunshine were at an end when Ethel started; still, she had a spell of daylight and twilight ahead, long enough for a brisk walk, by way of shaking off recollections of Tom. When dusk should fall, she would look in at a friend's house for a cup of tea—one of the numerous single ladies "of the usual age" abundant in Newton Bury. It would never do to go home till after five. Mrs. Elvey was upstairs with neuralgia; and a fresh tête-à-tête with Tom so soon was not to be thought of.
"If mother doesn't come down, he must manage for himself for once," thought Ethel.
Along the river-bank was the one "country walk" within easy distance of the Rectory. Some ten or fifteen minutes at a quick pace, going down stream, brought one to a region where buildings were scarce. Newton Bury ended abruptly in this direction. The other way, up stream, there were gentlemen's houses and gardens, reaching far; for that was the "west-end" of the town. Towards the south, working-men's quarters predominated; but the old Parish Church of St. Stephen's, in its venerable square, lay towards the north-east, very near country lanes and fields, in a poor but quiet part—the oldest part of Newton Bury.
Ethel did not keep long to the river-side. An impulse seized her to visit the cemetery—a natural impulse under the circumstances, her thoughts being constantly bent upon the Brownings and their trouble. She had not been to the cemetery since the day of the funeral. There would be just time enough for her to get there and back before dark. The idea no sooner occurred to Ethel than she acted upon it, quitting the towing-path, and making a short-cut straight to her destination.
The cemetery, though outside the town, was not far-off. It was a singularly pretty place, more like a large garden or a small park than a burial-ground, with soft grassy slopes, abundance of trees, and masses of evergreens. In fine weather the cemetery was a favourite resort of people living at this end of Newton Bury.
Ethel reached the large gates, and went through, passing at a rapid pace towards the quiet corner which the Brownings would now hold dear—which would also be dear to Ethel, for Nigel's sake. She found the place somewhat lonely, and darker than she had expected, under the shadows of the great yew trees. The black branches had an eerie look. Once Ethel almost turned back, thinking it had grown too late for her to be there alone; but she changed her mind, and went on. She had a dislike to giving up a definite intention; and, after all, nobody was here except herself—nobody was likely to be here.
The low mound loomed suddenly upon her gaze, almost solitary upon a triangular patch of grass, which on one side was bounded by a fringe of trees, their bare boughs making a lace-like pattern against the sky. Ethel saw so much, then she slackened her pace, and faltered; for she was not alone.